


Time's Warrior

by Cheree_Cargill



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Ancient Vulcan, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Romance, Time Travel, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 15:58:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 80,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15777345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheree_Cargill/pseuds/Cheree_Cargill
Summary: Chasing S'Von, a mad Vulcan who is intent on going back through the Guardian of Forever and changing Vulcan history by destroying Spock's family, both he and Spock are accidentally thrown back over 5,000 years into Vulcan's past.  S'Von immediately goes about launching a war of conquest while Spock faces the daunting task of somehow finding him and getting him back to the future.  Meanwhile, Spock begins to revert into his warlike ancestors and leads the fight with his own warrior clan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Time's Warrior is © 1999 by Cheree Cargill. Star Trek characters are property of Paramount Studios, Inc. And their usage is not intended to violate any copyright or trademark. No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form whatsoever, either print or electronic, without the express written permission of the author. This copy of Time's Warrior is intended for private use and enjoyment only. All rights reserved.
> 
> ****
> 
> I originally wrote this back in 1999 as a professional ST novel. But by the time I'd finished it, Pocket Books informed me they weren't doing any more time travel novels and so I published it on my own as a fanzine. Hope you enjoy the adventure!
> 
> By the way, as I was writing this, I consulted with D. C. Fontana to see if there had been a family name created for Spock but never used. She informed me that they'd never actually created one, just referenced it, so feel free to "just make it up like I do". With permission from the "top", I created the House of Ni'ikhirch. There are other fan-created family names, but this one is mine, as are the other Vulcan Houses and characters.

___________________________

_"Think, man! What's happening on your planet, right now at this very moment?!"_

_"My ancestors are barbarians. Warlike barbarians..."_

_"Who nearly killed themselves off with their own passions!  
Spock, you're reverting into your ancestors — 5,000 years before you were born!"_

_— All Our Yesterdays_

___________________________

 

**Prologue**

 

"Stay with him, Mr. Sulu," said Captain Kirk from the command chair, his eyes locked on the distant point of light in the center of the main viewscreen, the sole stationary object amid the stream of stars flowing past.

The helmsman ran his fingers lightly over the control switches, guiding the big starship's course with finesse. "He can't outrun us, Captain. The top speed of a Vulcan shuttle is warp 6."

"Readings, Mr. Spock?" the captain questioned over his shoulder.

From the science station behind him, Commander Spock glanced from his viewer to the main screen then back into the hooded display, its light painting a bright blue rectangle across the Vulcan officer's lean, angular face. "He's maintaining warp 5, Captain, and has not varied his course for Gateway. He _does_ have a good lead on us, however."

"How long to Gateway now?"

"He will reach orbit in 11.5 minutes, sir. At our present speed of warp 7, we shall arrive exactly 24.3 minutes later."

Kirk nodded. "Are we close enough to throw a tractor beam around him?"

"No, sir. We are not yet in range," the science officer answered. "Sir, I point out to you that the shuttle is capable of landing on the planet's surface. He will most likely not establish an orbital trajectory but will land the craft."

"Noted, Mr. Spock. Track him all the way down. We don't want to lose him now."

"Aye, sir."

Kirk turned his thoughtful attention back to the main screen, where a low magnitude star had begun to grow in prominence as they approached it.

The star was old and dying, a Class K orange giant whose light had faded until it was almost a luminous brown. Its nuclear fires still burned, but it did not have long to exist in the stellar course of things. Although it would continue to shed its weak light for millennia, inevitably its core would finally collapse in upon itself and rupture into a brief, bright nova. Then the gases that comprised its furnaces would spread themselves out into an ephemeral nebula and serve as the birthplace for new stars and systems as yet unimagined.

For the present, the occupants aboard the starship rapidly entering its ecliptic plane gave the star scant thought. Their attention was focused on the sole planet that circled near its sparse fires as if attempting to soak up the star's last portion of warmth. The planet was dark and forbidding as it grew on the viewing screen of the _Enterprise_ 's bridge. It left a cold feeling in the pit of the captain's stomach as he watched it enlarge rapidly.

James Kirk had been here twice before and knew the desolation that covered its expanse. Once the planet had held a vast civilization, one of elegance and wealth. Immense cities spread across the landscape and there was evidence of spaceports, universities, enormous agricultural complexes, even more enormous industrial areas. Linking the cities and continents was a web of roads that even today were still usable. But something had happened tens of thousands of years ago that had ended the civilization of this world. Today it was totally lifeless — no people, no animals, no plants. A dead world. Its oceans and much of its atmosphere had been blown away into space, leaving it parched and cracked, the thin wind endlessly blowing dust and debris across its seared surface. Today, its only inhabitants were the Federation science teams studying it.

And there was one object here that had made Gateway a restricted world that put it off‑limits to any but authorized Federation personnel, an object so potentially devastating that the planet was under constant Starfleet patrol, a quarantined world. It was part machine and part being, so immeasurably old that even it had lost the recollection of its creation. Capable of transmuting time and space, it served as a doorway into the past — the Guardian of Forever. Even after three years of study, the scientists assigned here still had no idea how it functioned, who had constructed it, and if it was indeed a sentient being as it seemed at times.

The _Enterprise_ was not the starship assigned to patrol Gateway. Starfleet could not afford to waste one of its twelve heavy cruisers on the monotonous duty of guarding a planet. That had been assigned to the patrol ship _Kelley_ whose job it was to police not only Gateway itself but the star system as a whole. _Kelley_ had been at the farthest point of its route when engine trouble had temporarily taken the warp engines off line and forced them to rely on impulse. Limping along at sublight, it would take them three full days to come back into orbit around Gateway

It was at that point they had received a red priority message regarding the fugitive now headed for Gateway and the captain of the patrol ship had called the nearest starship for help — the _Enterprise_. The big cruiser had been 18 hours away, however, even at top warp but had moved to intercept at fastest speed. They were now decelerating as they approached the star system of their destination and had their target in sight.

So far, he had managed to elude them, but Kirk was determined that the chase would end soon. He rose from the command chair and walked over to the railing that separated the lower part of the bridge from the service level. There he paused and addressed his science officer. "What have we got on Dr. S'Von?"

Spock swung his chair around towards the captain and folded his arms across his chest, a meditative expression on his face. "He was originally assigned two years ago to the Federation archaeological team that was stationed on Gateway, but was not authorized to study the Guardian itself. He was part of the team working with the ruins of the dead civilization there. However, apparently the Guardian fascinated him and he could not stay away from it. Twice he was reprimanded for unauthorized access to the portal."

The Vulcan shifted his position and cocked his head slightly. "Finally, he could not resist making a small, unauthorized foray into the past. He apparently intended no harm, merely meant to observe Sigma Orionis 4 at the dawn of its age of spaceflight. But while he was there, he caused an accident to occur. It seemed relatively minor. A young boy was thrown from a riding animal when it was startled by S'Von's presence on a park trail. The boy appeared unhurt and they parted company. But the fall had caused an aneurism in the boy's brain and he died the following week. Because of his death, he would never grow to develop a breakthrough energy source that would lead the planet into spaceflight outside its own solar system. Without interstellar spaceflight, the planet would never colonize a nearby world and would never be discovered there by the Federation.

"When S'Von returned to the present, he discovered that the peaceful planet he'd studied for so long had become a barbaric world recovering from a world war. He was caught trying to go back through the Guardian to right his wrong. Time manipulation is a very delicate and tricky thing, as you know all too well, Captain. Fortunately, the other scientists on Gateway were able to correct the error and the timeline went back into its proper shape. But the Federation High Council did not take lightly Dr. S'Von's transgressions and sentenced him to a rehab colony on Vulcan for re-education and treatment."

"But what's he doing out?" Kirk demanded. "Surely they didn't just let him go."

"Apparently, they did, Captain," the first officer replied. "After rehabilitation and exhibiting an improved mindset and more socially appropriate behavior, he was certified as cured and released."

Kirk turned back to the main screen, where the planet was growing rapidly in size. "Well, he didn't _stay_ cured for very long, Mr. Spock. Not unless you classify stealing a warp shuttle as 'socially appropriate behavior'."

"Not at all, sir," Spock replied calmly. "This is highly aberrant behavior, especially for a Vulcan. Obviously, Dr. S'Von has some plan that he formulated while incarcerated and he intends to implement it."

"Whatever that plan may be," Kirk answered softly and went back to the command chair to sit tightly staring at the main screen.

"He's gone to impulse, Captain," Sulu reported from the helm. "He's beginning entry maneuvers."

"Stay with him..." Kirk murmured again in answer, although the directive was unnecessary. Sulu was one of the finest pilots in Starfleet and he had served under Kirk long enough to be highly attuned to his captain's thought processes, usually anticipating Kirk's orders before he gave them.

A quarter of an hour crawled past and then Sulu reported, "Coming up on Gateway, sir."

"Standard orbit, Mr. Sulu."

"Aye, sir." The helmsman expertly brought the starship into a parking orbit around the planet, tightly synchronizing its position and speed above the surface coordinates Spock fed over from the science station, specifying the location of the shuttle's landing.

Once orbit was established, Kirk rose from the command chair and went to stand beside Spock. "Do you have him pinpointed?"

"Yes, Captain. I show him quite near the Guardian, no more than several hundred yards. As I recall, there was a large space there that we surmised might have been the floor of an amphitheater. It would serve quite well as a landing pad for a ship the size of the shuttle."

"Let's go get him then," the captain responded with grim determination. "Mr. Sulu, you have the conn."

* * *

Chief Engineer Scott was waiting for them in the transporter room, one of the few Federation officers who had actually seen the Guardian. He had been in the original landing party three years before that had discovered the puzzling object. Now, from behind the console, Scotty handed a communicator and number two phaser to each of them, and they quickly slapped the instruments into place at their waists. As Scotty passed Spock his tricorder and the first officer slipped the strap over his head and took his place on the transporter pad next to the captain, the engineer spoke up. "I'd feel better if you had a few security guards goin' down with you."

"You know the Federation Council's ruling, Scotty," the captain responded with a sigh. "No one without prior approval is to set foot on this planet. Unfortunately, that means Mr. Spock and I have to take care of this ourselves." Kirk smiled at his chief engineer. "Don't worry, Scotty. We'll be fine. Energize."

Scott didn't look very convinced, but locked in the coordinates and activated the transport switches. The transporter hum filled the chamber and then faded away along with the two men on the pad.

When the golden dazzles had disappeared around them, Kirk and Spock found themselves on the desolate surface of Gateway. No one knew the planet's real name, although archaeological evidence had determined that the city stretching around them had once been called Oyya. It was hard for Kirk to imagine the vibrant metropolis this had once been, busy with life and commerce, peopled by millions of beings going about their business. What had happened to them was one of the galaxy's unsolved mysteries.

A cold, mournful wind howled around the endless ruins that extended as far as the eye could see, swirling a fog of dust and decay throughout the ruins and into the chill air. The two starship officers took a few seconds to orient themselves to their location, then Spock began to scan the area with his tricorder. "I read the shuttle in _that_ direction, Captain."

Using the ruins and broken columns of the city as cover, they made their way to the clearing. There they found the elegant little Vulcan shuttlecraft resting incongruously amid the crumbling stones and weathered arches of the city amphitheater. The airlock door was open and steam still rose from the landing thrusters. It hadn't been here long.

They approached it cautiously, although neither expected to find Dr. S'Von on board. What they did find was the body of one of the Federation archaeologists assigned to work on Gateway. He was lying face down in the dust beside the portside warp nacelle, an ugly burn mark in the middle of his back. Kirk grimly knelt down to examine him. "Dead. Point blank phaser shot."

Spock nodded as if not surprised at all and ventured into the shuttle, phaser drawn. He was back in a few minutes. "Dr. S'Von is not on board. Logic would dictate that we will find him at the Guardian."

"Agreed. Let's go."

Quietly they approached the enigmatic object, a huge translucent oval amid the ruins. The sight of it made Kirk think back to the fateful events that had led to its discovery and first use by Federation personnel. The _Enterprise_ had been investigating time displacement waves at the time, lured by a phenomenon that they had never before encountered. During the investigation, Dr. McCoy had accidentally been injected with a full syringe of the drug Cordrazine and had fled the ship in a strange, wild paranoia, convinced that his shipmates were out to murder him. It was while searching for him on this lifeless world that they had happened upon the huge, ring-shaped thing that still stood bright among the dusty ruins.

McCoy, in his madness, had leaped through the time portal and, somewhere back in the past, had changed history. The Federation and the _Enterprise_ and all that they knew disappeared in the blink of an eye, stranding the landing party on this desolate world with no hope of survival, no hope of rescue.

Kirk and Spock had no choice but to follow McCoy back in time and set things right. It was an especially painful memory for Kirk, because, in order to do so, he'd had to stand by and allow a woman to die — a woman with whom he had fallen deeply in love. It had been like allowing his living heart to be ripped from his chest, but the fate of a universe had rested on this one pivotal act.

The memory still ached inside him, but he damped it down with iron-willed determination and turned his attention to the Guardian. Sure enough, the man they sought was standing in front of the large opening and, even from this distance, they could see the cloudy curtain dropping from the oval's upper rim and the flickering images of passing time playing out across its surface.

S'Von was Vulcan, about Spock's age, but shorter, slighter, and with a definite air about him of the classroom and library. His profession was research historian, specializing in paleocultures of various planets, and he looked deceptively mild, not at all the type of man who would contemplate larger plans than next week's student assignment. And yet, if their information was correct, this man was capable of almost anything. His logical Vulcan training had metamorphosed into madness and megalomania and the Federation had ordered that he be brought back at all costs. The two starship officers knew that in the backpack slung over one shoulder was a brace of stolen phasers and power packs. If he took them back into time, the consequences could be unimaginable.

Now he stood intently studying the images before him. Kirk motioned Spock to circle around and come up behind the fugitive.

"S'Von!" Kirk called and the scientist snapped around to face them, looking startled. His eyes were unusually light for a Vulcan, the color of caramel, and they gave his features an even more striking appearance. His face settled into a frown.

"You got here quickly, Captain," he commented. "I congratulate you on your detective work."

"Just stay where you are and don't make any moves," Kirk responded, advancing toward him, phaser steady in his hand. He could see Spock quietly making his way to a position behind the other Vulcan.

"You can't stop me, Captain," S'Von answered. "It's too late for that. I have already set into motion a plan that will change the history of my planet." He suddenly produced a phaser of his own. "I won't hesitate to shoot you, Captain, and I'll do it a lot quicker than you can pull the trigger."

"We seem to be at an impasse then," Kirk replied, still watching Spock move silently up behind S'Von but keeping his eyes locked on the Vulcan scientist.

Spock's boot made a soft scraping sound on the gravel beneath his feet and S'Von spun to bring his phaser to bear on the first officer. "Drop it!" he ordered.

After a second's hesitation, Spock slowly let his phaser fall to the ground and held his hands out where S'Von could see them. But he kept his eyes locked on the other's face and advanced with slow deliberation toward the scientist.

"Stop right there!"

Spock complied, for the moment at least. "Whatever it is that you propose, Doctor, your chances of success are distinctly limited," he said. "Your plan will not work."

"You think not? I believe it _will_ ," S'Von sneered, keeping the phaser leveled on the other Vulcan. "I had a great deal of time to think while I was sitting in that rehab facility. The fools! Thinking they could re-educate _me_ — their intellectual superior! They're all like _you_ , Spock. _Your_ kind did this to me."

The science officer's eyebrows lifted quizzically. " _My_ kind? I don't understand."

"You Ni'ikhirchi."

Kirk had been listening closely and now he frowned. He didn't understand the Vulcan word S'Von had just used, but clearly Spock did, for he looked surprised and then skeptical. "I fail to see how the Ni'ikhirchi caused your incarceration."

This was rapidly becoming a personal conversation between the two Vulcans, and the Human present was becoming more and more confused. What were they talking about?

"Of course, you don't," S'Von spat back. "You blithely sit on your mountain and rule. The north is ignored because we don't have the population to influence things."

"You have as much influence as anyone," Spock answered, frowning.

"Theoretically, but not in reality. You know as well as I do that Ni'ikhirch has controlled Vulcan as far back as anyone can remember. They still do. Don't play coy with _me_ , Spock. _You_ know who holds First Chair on the Council. _Who_ she is."

"That is a delusion on your part, S'Von. You know we have no more influence than anyone else."

S'Von gave a harsh laugh. "I'd expect to hear that from the scion of Ni'ikhirch!"

Suddenly Kirk understood what this was all about. Ni'ikhirch was Spock's family name! And "she" was T'Pau, the powerful _de facto_ leader of Vulcan and matriarch of her clan — and Spock's great-grandmother. They were talking about Vulcan planetary politics.

S'Von was beginning to ramble, talking more than he was paying attention. "While I was in the rehabilitation facility, the days were extremely long and the nights even longer. I had a lot of time to think, Spock, and I began to wonder ... what if things were changed? What if Ni'ikhirch did _not_ rule Vulcan? What if some other House were given a chance? Like D'Khahl, for instance. _My_ House. With the right leader in command, it _could._ But that leader would have to go far enough back to circumvent Ni'ikhirchi power. And he would need some overwhelming advantage to establish himself as the Holder of his House, something that made him invincible. And I realized that I had the perfect means for accomplishing this — the Guardian. Walking out of that rehab facility to freedom was child's play. All I had to do was behave nicely and give the right answers. After that, it only took me days to obtain what I needed for my journey."

His face twisted into a nasty sneer. "I intend to wipe your clan from Vulcan's history, Spock. You should bid your farewells to your friend here, because, in a very short time, you won't ever have existed!"

Kirk was growing more and more convinced that the Vulcan scientist was completely mad. He had to be apprehended, no matter what it took. Cautiously, Kirk moved a step toward him, ready to grab the phaser he held, but S'Von immediately swung the weapon in the captain's direction, snapping it up into firing position and pulling the trigger.

At the same instant, Spock hurled himself at S'Von and seized the hand that held the phaser, attempting to wrest it from S'Von's grasp. The shot went wide, striking Kirk in the left shoulder and spinning him backwards into the dust, stunned. Trying to get his head to stop whirling and his eyes to focus, Kirk lay watching as the two Vulcans grappled fiercely over possession of the weapon, their equal strength making it an even contest, wrestling back and forth before the Guardian's still cloudy opening, the images of an alien history flickering eerily behind them.

As Kirk sat up and tried to locate his own phaser, Spock freed one hand, reaching for the base of S'Von's neck, but again the other Vulcan matched him, catching his wrist and preventing him from getting a hold on such a vulnerable spot. S'Von fired again, this time the deadly blue beam sizzling past Spock's ribs. He flinched aside just in time. Spock gave up his attempt at a nerve pinch and jerked his grip back over the phaser that S'Von held, again trying to twist it out of his hand.

Then S'Von let go of the phaser and plunged that hand towards Spock's throat, obviously going for a more deadly grip than a nerve pinch. The first officer must have instantly recognized his intent, for he countered that move by seizing S'Von's wrist and the contest became one of defense on Spock's part. He'd once told Kirk that there was no such thing as a Vulcan death grip, but there _was_ such a thing as _lan-dovna_ , an ancient technique of strangulation, and S'Von was obviously attempting to use it on Spock now. For his size, S'Von possessed every bit as much strength as his taller opponent and the Federation officer was finding it difficult to keep the reaching fingers from finding their target. Using all his strength and concentration, Spock began to press him back.

Kirk had finally managed to find his phaser and had struggled to his feet, still dizzy from the stun, his shoulder beginning to hurt abominably. He steadied himself against a column and tried to take aim at the two men grappling together before the Guardian's portal. He had decided that he would have to shoot them both.

Abruptly, S'Von slammed his knee up into Spock's thigh, and the science officer winced at the force of the blow and loosened his hold, enough for the renegade to wrench away from his grasp. Spock lunged at him again, seeking to reestablish his hold, but only managed to snatch the front of S'Von's jacket. The scientist jerked away, but one foot suddenly shot out from under him, his boot slipping on loose sand around the base of the Guardian.

Flailing wildly to regain his balance, S'Von made a violent grab at Spock, tripped, then fell backwards into the time field, yanking Spock after him a fraction of a second later. All Kirk registered before he could move to prevent it was a look of extreme surprise on Spock's face, then his first officer was gone, disappearing into the cloudy mists of history. Immediately the Guardian's field cleared and the ruins of the dead city were visible behind it.

Aghast, Kirk stumbled forward to stare dumbfounded at the now inactive oval. "What happened?!" the captain demanded. "Where are they?!"

" _They have passed into what was_ ," the Guardian's deep voice responded implacably.

"Where?! When?!"

" _They have passed into the making of their world. Time must unfold as it should._ "

The magnitude of the situation nearly drove Kirk to his knees, his gut twisting inside him. Ten thousand years of recorded history on a planet the size of Earth. They could be anywhere at any period of time during that entire inconceivable span. And any action or non-action they did had the potential to change the course of history. Kirk felt faint at the prospect.

"Dear God..." he murmured. "Dear God, how will I find them? In all of Vulcan history ... _how will I find them?!_ "

 

 

**Chapter 1**

 

Spock wasn't sure if it was the throbbing headache or the sharp rock jabbing him in the back which brought him back to consciousness. Suppressing a groan, he sat up, eliminating the problem with the rock, at least. But his head still pounded and he gingerly felt through his hair until his fingers found the sizeable lump that was the source of the problem. How did he get _that?_ he wondered. And where _was_ he?

Slowly he got to his feet and looked around. He was standing in an arid wasteland of wind‑sculpted sandstone, scrubby grey bushes the only vegetation in sight. It was extremely hot and the stiff wind that blew down the hillside behind him kicked dust and sand into the thin air and swirled it away into an orange sky. Surface gravity was a bit heavier than the Earth-based 1G he had grown accustomed to on the ship, but it felt comfortable. Moreover, it felt _right_. That puzzled him for a second, then he knew the reason why. His body was adjusting naturally to the gravity field in which it had formed. Instinctively, he knew that he must be on Vulcan. He just didn't know _where_ on Vulcan. Or _when_.

He and S'Von must have accidentally fallen through the Guardian together. But to where? And where was S'Von if they'd come through at the same time? Looking back up the hillside, he pinpointed where he must have exited the time portal. About halfway up, the sand and gravel was abruptly disturbed and a mussed trail ended at his feet. Obviously, he had fallen through onto the angled surface, found no solid ground underneath him and tumbled down the hillside, probably hitting his head on a rock in the process, thereby rendering himself unconscious for an unknown length of time. He saw no other trail and then remembered that S'Von had gone through the Guardian a split second ahead of him. That small difference could be significant. The speed at which the Guardian presented the timeline could mean that S'Von had emerged in another time period altogether — a week, a month, even a year before his arrival. He could be _anywhere._

Without any real hope of an answer, Spock pulled out his communicator and flipped it open. "Spock to _Enterprise_. Spock to _Enterprise_." Nothing answered him but static, on any channel. Logical, he decided, since most likely he was somewhere in the past as well as very far away from where he had begun his journey. The next logical order of business was to reconnoiter.

He started up the hillside, crumbling scree and sand slowing his climb. When he reached the point where he'd come through to this world, he stopped and felt through the air and around the hillside, with the faint hope that he could relocate the portal. But any interdimensional opening that had once existed was now closed. Dismissing that probability, Spock continued to scramble up the hill. It wasn't far and eventually he made it to the top where he surveyed his surroundings from the higher vantage point, shielding his eyes from the wind snapping at his clothing and whipping his hair into disarray. There was nothing as far as the eye could see but endless mesas and buttes, weathered rock formations and canyons, all in muted shades of ochre red and gold.

And then, as he turned toward the east, he came upon a sight that brought him up short. Far off on the distant horizon rose the cone of a distinctively shaped mountain. It was so familiar that he caught his breath and stared, for he knew it intimately. He'd grown up in the shadow of that mountain, known its presence all his life, looming in the background of his family ceremonies and gatherings. It was Seleya. It had to be.

And if he had any lingering doubt that he was indeed on Vulcan, in the sky were two objects that put the question firmly to rest — the Eyes of Heya, the brilliant companion stars of Vulcan's primary, Las'hark, known as 40 Eridani A to the humans. They burned bright even in the daytime, one white, one red. Listed on the star maps as 40 Eridani B and C, Ni'ikhahl and Ni'ikhirch were part of a trinary star system, two dwarf stars locked in an eternal celestial dance with the star that Vulcan orbited, itself an orange dwarf. The Eyes had been revered and worshipped back into the distant mists of Vulcan's history, and from the red one, Ni'ikhirch, Spock's family took its ancient clan name — the House of the Eye of Fire.

He recovered from his momentary reverie and nodded to himself, feeling a totally illogical pulse of relief and joy at his relative proximity to home. No wonder his surroundings felt _right_. He was practically in his own backyard. ShiKahr must be only about 40 or 50 _kh'eet_ away, if he could see Seleya from here. A long way on foot but perhaps there was a settlement or homesteading near where he could arrange transportation. He caught up his tricorder and began scanning the area.

Nothing registered that would be of any help to him, however. There didn't appear to be any settlements within scanning range, and for the first time a very small degree of concern began to creep into him. He had come through the Guardian accidentally and had brought only what he had on his person — his uniform, communicator, tricorder and the phaser he had wrenched from S'Von's hand just before they had fallen. He surmised that he was in the Se'han Hills, a wilderness area to the southwest of ShiKahr, bordering on the western edge of the vast stretch of nothingness known as Vulcan's Forge, one of the most desolate and unforgiving stretches of desert on the planet. He had neither survival gear nor supplies and, while his uniform was fine for shipboard duty, it was not at all suitable for an area such as this. He needed a desert robe for protection from the sun and, more than that, he needed to find water soon. Although he could survive without food for a bit longer, that was essential as well. And shelter if he was forced to spend the night here. _Le'matya_ roamed these hills and probably wild _sehlats_ as well. There were other, smaller predators in addition to carnivorous plants that lay deceptively in wait for the unwary. There was little game and he was sure to be viewed as choice prey.

And he had another problem to consider. S'Von had escaped through the Guardian and it was logical to assume that he was somewhere roughly in the same time and vicinity. There might be distance and a degree of time between them, but Spock could not dismiss his responsibility of finding him. But what time period was this? It was impossible to tell from his surroundings just _when_ he was. His duty was to locate and apprehend the renegade and take him back to the present under arrest.

Spock looked around at the bleak landscape and sighed. That seemed a forlorn hope at the moment. And, if an _Enterprise_ rescue party came looking for him, might they not land here as well? Should he stay here and wait to be rescued? That, too, seemed rather against the odds. Logically, the first order of business was survival and that meant finding water.

Resetting his tricorder, he began scanning again. He had nearly given up when a small reading showed in passing. Quickly, he swung back the way he'd come and caught it again, finally narrowing the location and pinpointing it. North, about ten _kh'eet_. It was quite far away but he thought he'd be able to make it before the sun set.

Marking the location, he searched for a way down to the flatter land at the base of the hill and finally located a steep but passable route. He skidded down, slipped, caught his balance, and finally managed to make it. And there he found something else that captured his attention immediately — following the base of the hill was a wide trail.

Kneeling, he examined the dirt path more closely. It was hard packed from use but there were no fresh tracks in it. No evidence of wheeled vehicles was rutted into it, either. This was not a simple footpath, however. Several people could comfortably walk side-by-side along its length. It had the decided appearance of a road.

Spock stood and looked first one way along its length and then the other. There was little to see, for it curved around the hill and out of sight. Well, a road must lead someplace and the logical thing to do was follow it, especially since it was heading in the general direction he needed to go. Without further ado, he set off.

He hadn't walked far when he realized that he had to have some sort of head covering. The afternoon sun was fierce. After giving it a moment's thought, he stopped and peeled off his blue velour uniform tunic and then the black cotton t-shirt he wore underneath. He slipped the tunic back on then ripped the t-shirt down the front and tied it into a crude burnoose around his head. Barely adequate protection, but it might prevent sunstroke.

He walked steadily for three hours, periodically checking his tricorder to make sure he still had the water source located, and also keeping an eye on the westering sun. It would be a close thing and, if his destination turned out to be a water hole, he might have still more trouble to deal with, for it was sure to be a gathering spot for any wildlife in the area ... including the carnivores.

As the red sun was just touching the horizon line, the tricorder readings indicated that he had come parallel with the water source and needed to climb back into the hills about a half mile. As he was looking for a way to do that, he saw that a side path veered off from the main road, leading in that direction. Totally logical, he decided. Travelers would know all the springs in this wilderness and make use of them.

The sun had disappeared below the horizon when he reached the source, approaching it cautiously. As he'd suspected, it was indeed a watering hole. Slightly above him, water trickled out of a crack in the sandstone, staining the face of the hillside dark, and then pooled in a depression some twenty feet below. The depression showed evidence that it was regularly used by game in the area. Tracks and droppings abounded and the water didn't look very potable. Better if he managed to catch it from its source.

And there he found another dilemma. He didn't have anything to catch it _in_ , other than his hands, and it would take quite a while for enough water from the seep to collect for even a modest drink. He drew back into the shelter of an overhang that formed a little cave in the hillside. It didn't go very far back and was just about deep enough for one person to squeeze into if nearly folded double. It was impossible to stand or move much, but it was shelter and was somewhat defensible. In any case, it was getting too dark to go farther without risk from predators. He squatted down in the shadows to ponder the solution to the problem of obtaining water.

The twilight deepened as he sat there silently and abruptly his sensitive ears heard the quiet scratch of a hoof on stone. He quietly peered out of his shelter and saw that a half dozen _orinda_ were picking their way down to the water. They were compact herbivores resembling Terran gazelles, reddish brown to blend in with their surroundings, able to live on the nearly indigestible desert scrub. There were three does and their fawns, their large ears flicking in all directions as they listened for danger. With infinite care, they moved forward, ever alert, then bent their heads to drink.

Despite his own predicament, Spock was fascinated. He'd always thought _orinda_ were beautiful animals and had never seen any outside of a zoological park. Holding his breath, he watched them sip delicately at the water, their ears still flicking back and forth, large dark eyes scanning the surrounding area.

Without warning, there was a scramble on the rocks over his head and a long gold and gray-green body rocketed past, hurtling with incredible speed towards the water hole. The _orinda_ reacted instantly, exploding into frenzied flight but it was too late for one of them. The _le'matya_ had dragged down one of the does, fangs buried in its neck, large poison-tipped claws skewering the kicking body as green blood spurted and ran across the stone.

Startled badly, Spock burrowed back as far into his shelter as he could get, trying to still his pounding heart. He was stunned by the speed and savageness of the attack, sickened by the sight of the big tiger-like carnivore ripping chunks of bloody meat from its victim and gulping them down whole. And then a second chill went over him. The _le'matya_ had been right above him in the rocks and he'd never realized it. If he'd stepped out from beneath the overhang, _he_ would be lying there in its jaws instead of the _orinda._

The cat settled down to enjoy its meal and showed no signs of leaving. Realizing there would be no water for _him_ tonight, Spock sank warily back to wait, his phaser in his hand, set on kill.

* * *

At dawn the next day, the _le'matya_ was joined by another, smaller one which was dragging an _orinda_ fawn, and by three half-grown cubs. All five of them took up lazy residence beside the waterhole, alternately gnawing meat off the fast decomposing carcasses and sleeping in the shade. When the parents were asleep, the cubs quarreled over the remains, hissing and spitting and batting their big paws at one another, but careful to keep their poisoned claws sheathed. All around hovered lesser carnivores, all hopeful of a snatched mouthful. Their howling and fighting sounded like a chorus of demons as they prowled around the site.

For two days, Spock crouched back in his shelter, never daring to move more than stretching an arm or leg that cramped up or trying to work the knots out of his shoulders. During the days, the heat was nearly unbearable, for not a breath of wind made its way into his hiding place, and at night the temperature dropped to a chilling degree as the desert quickly gave up the heat it had stored during the day. Spock stoically endured the range of temperatures, but found that the worst thing about waiting through the heat of the day was the reek of rotting meat that permeated the area.

The stench of the putrid _orinda_ carcasses was so strong that more than once he had to expend discipline over his stomach to keep from being violently ill, but it was a blessing in disguise. The stink of decaying flesh and the rank odor of the _le'matyas_ themselves served to effectively mask his own scent from the predators that prowled around his hiding place. Intent on scavenging the _orinda_ , they ignored him.

Thus, he waited without food or water and steadfastly foregoing sleep, fighting nausea and heat exhaustion that made his head pound. By the time the sun set and the temperature began dropping, he welcomed the evening cool. The relief was short-lived, however, because soon the chill of night set in and the cold gripped him in its iron talons. But at least his shivering helped keep him awake. He didn't dare doze off with so many predators around him and yet, to his chagrin, he found the forced inactivity and fatigue made avoiding sleep nearly impossible.

Long after midnight on the second night, he was startled out of a doze by a growl and the snuffling muzzle of a _hycal_ , peering into his hiding place and sniffing with interest at the fresh prey it had just found. Small black eyes glittering, it licked its chops and began advancing on him in a purposeful manner, teeth bared.

Spock gave an involuntary cry and slammed the heel of his boot squarely into the ugly creature's snout. It backed off for a second, snorting in surprise and pain, shaking its heavy, grizzled head. Then it turned back to the man it hunted and crouched into an incipient pounce, yellow fangs bared and murderous intent in its narrowed eyes. The hair all along its spine standing erect, the _hycal_ hissed viciously and lunged at him with extended claws.

Yanking the phaser up with lightning reflexes, Spock shot it point blank, the beam slamming it to a halt in mid-leap. The force of the blast knocked the creature back out into the open where it convulsed wildly then lay still. The rest of the pack erupted into an ear-shattering howling and attacked the carcass, ripping it to shreds and battling over the bloody scraps.

The commotion startled the _le'matyas_ and the two adults launched into the _hycal_ pack, scattering them with hair-raising roars. For a short while, pandemonium reigned around the water hole as the high-pitched screams of the _le'matyas_ mixed with the hooting and snarling of the _hycals_ and the yipping of _jaq'a_ , small canid-like carnivores skulking around the edges of the site. _Sak'ar_ , large vulture-like carrion-eaters, squawked and flapped into complaining flight around the area, while smaller flyers circled out of reach. Eventually, however, things settled down again and relative quiet descended over the night once more.

Spock shuddered involuntarily and sat gasping for breath, working to still his pounding heart. That had been a close thing. _Hycals_ disgusted him, always had, although he knew it was illogical to hate a mere animal. But they were ruthless and had filthy habits, would chase down prey and eat it alive, then turn on any of their own who showed weakness and rip them to bits as well. The pack had nearly had him because he had let himself doze off.

He made sure that he did not make the same mistake twice. To keep himself alert, he worked out computations in his head, trying variables on a problem when he'd solved an equation. When he tired of that, he mentally field stripped and rebuilt all manner of hand weapons. By the time he'd made his way from class one hand phasers up to tripod-mounted cannons, the sky was beginning to lighten with dawn.

Over the course of the long days and nights, the _le'matyas_ had demolished the two _orinda._ When all the meat had been gnawed or rasped away, powerful jaws cracked the bones for the marrow inside. Spock had waited through the interminable hours with a growing thirst, his mouth and throat so dry that he had begun to think seriously about blasting all the animals with his phaser and scrambling down to the muddy waterhole after all. It was insanity, of course. Even if he got past the _le'matyas,_ the _hycal_ pack would surely pull him down before he got halfway there. He couldn't possibly fend them all off single-handedly, even with a phaser. And so he waited patiently. He had no other choice.

Now at dawn on the third day, he heard the big male get up and stretch, yawning noisily. The diamond markings on its gold and green coat rippled as muscles underneath the sleek hide moved. The male greeted his mate, rubbing cheeks with her, and the cubs followed suit, then drank from the waterhole and nosed around to see if there was anything left of the kill. There wasn't. What the _le'matyas_ hadn't eaten, smaller scavengers had carried off, even the bone splinters disappearing down the burrows of insects. The male twitched his tail and ambled away from the waterhole, disappearing as he leaped up onto the rocks. The female and cubs followed him casually, the little ones taking time to have a quick game of tumble before scrambling up after their mother.

For a long time, Spock sat unmoving, straining to hear any sound. But, except for the wind, it was totally quiet. They had all gone.

Cautiously, he crawled out from beneath the overhang, phaser ready should an ambush be waiting, and gradually straightened up. Muscles, cramped up for too long, protested and knotted painfully. His knees ached and his back felt as if he were carrying a heavy weight. He waited long enough to insure that he was really alone, then scrambled over the rock face to the spring. Using the butt of his phaser, he hammered out a little bigger opening, then stuck the weapon against its fabristik strip on his trousers and quickly cupped both hands under the tiny trickle of water coming from the crack.

For a long time, all he did was fill his palms and gulp down the clear, cool liquid. He'd never been so thirsty in his life, even during the _kahs'wan_ survival test when he was a boy. He'd grown lazy, he realized, living among humans who always had an abundance of water at their disposal. He rubbed a handful over his dusty face, relishing the cool evaporation it immediately provided. Finally, he turned his back to the cliffside and leaned his head back into the tiny flow, letting it trickle through his hair and down his neck.

His thirst now assuaged, he remembered that he hadn't eaten in over three days either. His last meal had been breakfast on the _Enterprise_ _._ In accordance with his Vulcan upbringing, he always dined lightly following morning meditation. Toast, fruit and _hiralin_ tea was his usual fare, promptly at 0700 each morning, which he ate as he reviewed the day's schedule and duty roster and prepared to go up to the bridge no later than 0750. His last meal had been no exception. Usually it didn't matter because he took a lunch break about four hours later if he found that his body demanded more nourishment. He'd gotten used to regular meals, too, when food was no farther away than a wall replicator panel.

He sat thinking what to do next. Obviously he couldn't stay here. It was too dangerous and he would starve to death within the week. His only hope was to get to a town or holding. He took up his tricorder again and scanned in the direction of Mt. Seleya. The peak didn't seem much closer than it had when he'd started out but he knew he'd covered nearly 10 _kh'eet_.

At the edge of the device's range, he picked up another water source, this one much bigger. About 20 to 25 _kh'eet_ , if he estimated correctly. Sighing, he snapped the instrument closed. There was nothing to do but make it there. He turned back to the spring and drank several more handfuls of water. Then he soaked his torn t-shirt in the spring to help cool himself, tied the make-shift burnoose back around his head, and set out again as the red morning sun was breaking over the hills behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**_One year prior..._ **

S'Von picked himself up from where he'd landed. He was lying in a wide, rolling meadow of stunted yellowish grass, rippled by the hot breeze that blew across the field. Overhead stretched a tangerine colored sky and surrounding his location were low hills that rose in the northeast into weathered mountains.

He stood and looked around with satisfaction. Not exactly where he'd intended to appear, but close enough. The Guardian, through its arcane manipulation of time and space, had placed him in the location he'd requested — the Province of D'Khahl near the foothills of the Faladorn Mountains. His homeland. He trusted that the time period was the one requested as well.

Kneeling down again, he checked the contents of the backpack and found all in order. He brought out a small coin-sized compass, got his bearings, then shouldered the pack into a comfortable position and began walking north.

The land did not change much as he traveled all that day. He was in the northern hemisphere of the planet, a fairly temperate zone covered with untold miles of sweeping prairies, an area that might have been compared by a Terran to the steppes of Asia or the Great Plains of North America on Earth. In his own day, much of the area had succumbed to desert and what wasn't too arid to farm was under cultivation in _tikh_ , Vulcan's staple cereal crop.

In fact, S'Von had come from a farming family and had fled at the first opportunity to a life away from the vast open spaces of golden grain and harvesting machinery. "Farm" was a misnomer, of course. His father had been manager of a huge agricultural complex, one of several that kept the planet fed and self-sufficient, so that the importation of foodstuffs was small and limited mainly to exotics. The temperate north was the "bread basket" of Vulcan and S'Von had been expected to follow his father and grandfather in the family business.

He'd had no taste for it. To his lively mind, harvest yields and crop futures were as dull as his father and three older brothers, tromping in covered with grain dust and chaff from their work, worrying about black blight and _seena_ beetle, planning how they could afford the newest model of harvester on this year's crop profits. He found that his imagination came alive in the past, in the history of the planet and its peoples. Pre-Reform history especially fascinated him, before the Vulcan people had adopted Surak's logic and emotional control and had settled into the peaceful, but — to S'Von's way of thinking — pallid and unexciting lifestyle they now maintained.

So, as soon as he could, he left home for university study in ShiKahr in the Province of Llangon to the south. And it was there that he not only learned his profession of historian but also got his first taste of politics and the way things really "worked" on Vulcan. Time and again, he'd seen funding and improvements go to the larger cities clustered near the equator of the planet while the northern provinces were left wanting.

He soon realized that the old woman T'Pau, matriarch of the House of Ni'ikhirch, for all intents and purposes ruled Vulcan and controlled the Council that established policies and laws. The clan had been wealthy and prestigious before but, when she had taken First Chair of the Council nearly 70 years ago, the House of Surak had acquired such power that its members were practically considered royalty by Vulcans and out-worlders alike.

With a seething sense of injustice and purpose that outstripped his Disciplines, S'Von grew to hate T'Pau and all her arrogant, multiple descendants. Grew to hate her daughter, T'Lar, First Adept of the Temple of Ancient Thought, a haughty, formidable old woman, ruling from the heights of Mt. Seleya itself. Grew to hate her grandson, Sarek, ambassador to Earth, who had defiled the Vulcan people by taking an out-worlder to wife and getting a son on her. The very thought made S'Von shudder. How a Vulcan, and one of such a long and distinguished family line, could even entertain such a thought ... could even bear to touch one of the creatures, let alone take her into his bed and ...

S'Von closed his eyes and shook off the revulsion he felt at such a thing.

He had grown to hate that son, too. Spock. The great Spock, heir to the family fortunes, legend in Starfleet ranks, celebrated by his very existence as the first Vulcan/Human hybrid ever born to live into adulthood. _Might as well celebrate the cross between a Vulcan and a pongon ape_ , he thought. Little wonder that Spock had gone into Starfleet, a Human organization. No decent institution on Vulcan would have accepted him.

S'Von's eyes narrowed as he trudged onward. He would make sure that Spock was never born. That none of them were ever born. That Ni'ikhirch would crumble into antiquity as an insignificant and penurious house of low repute. That it faded, forgotten, into the mists of history without trace and issue, without thought for time eternal.

S'Von camped that night beside a small stream that wandered across the grassland and, in a depression that he'd scooped out, he built a bonfire out of the deadwood he'd snapped off a small stand of _kintu_ trees growing beside the water. He didn't care if it was seen; he _wanted_ to be found. And, frankly, he hoped that it would keep away any predators that might be prowling in his vicinity. He passed the long night rolled in a blanket near the fire, keeping a phaser in his hand.

But, although lonely and cold, the hours of darkness were tranquil and he eventually slept and dreamed fitfully.

The morning sun woke him as it broke over the hilltops and he breakfasted on rations he had brought with him and purified water in his pack. He didn't dare drink from the stream, although it looked fresh enough. He wasn't acclimated to whatever germs this time period might hold. It would do his plans no profit if he arrived safely, only to die of _plak f'rul_ two weeks later. Although he'd vaccinated himself against everything he could think of, there might be active viruses here that no longer existed in his own time.

Clearing his camp and stowing his gear in the backpack, he once again set out north, walking briskly across the seemingly endless meadows.

He hadn't traveled far, however, when riders appeared on a nearby hill and sat watching him. There were four of them, astride powerful looking _hoxa_ , but were too far away for him to tell who they were, what House. Halting, he faced them and stood waiting, and it wasn't long before one of them made a signal to the others and all four thundered down the hill in his direction.

As they neared him, he determined that they were warriors, armed for patrol duty, not battle. They were dressed in studded leather, with surcoats of deep green carrying the sigil of a stylized _s'wu'un_ , a mythical animal that a Terran might have likened to a Chinese dragon. S'Von smiled to himself in satisfaction. These were the people he sought — warriors of the House of D'Khahl. _His_ House.

The four riders circled him, studying him with suspicion, and at last they halted, surrounding him. The evident leader leveled a short pike at him and demanded, "Who are you, stranger? And what are you doing on D'Khahli land?"

"My name is S'Von and I come seeking your Householder."

"For what purpose?"

"That is between him and me, _sai_."

The warrior exchanged glances with his fellows as if to make a comment on the stranger's arrogance, then he turned his gaze back on S'Von. "You speak in high tones for one who is trespassing."

"Nevertheless, you will take me to him. I bring power to him that will make him great."

This caused another round of looks among the D'Khahli. "Indeed?" questioned the leader, shifting in his saddle with an air of superiority. "Give the power to _me_ and perhaps I will let you live."

"Take me to your Householder and perhaps I will let _you_ live," S'Von responded.

That caused all four of the riders to laugh scornfully. The leader moved his mount a bit closer and poked S'Von in the shoulder with the tip of his pike. "You have a big mouth for such a little man," he said and prodded the scientist with his pike again.

"Don't do that," S'Von warned him darkly.

"What? This?" Another jab followed.

"I will strike you down if you touch me again."

The leader laughed and repeated his action. S'Von stepped back and brought his hand up, pointed in the warrior's direction. He held a small black box with silver fittings and, without warning, the box spat out a cobalt blue beam of light that blasted the warrior out of his saddle and knocked him ten feet from his _hox_ , where he landed unconscious.

The _hoxa_ screamed and reared in terror and the other three riders had to grab handholds of saddle and manes to keep from being thrown. When they had calmed their plunging mounts, the three warriors huddled together and regarded S'Von with fear.

"How can you do this?" demanded one.

"He's a wizard!" commented another one.

"I told you I hold great power," S'Von answered, his expression still dangerous. "Your friend isn't dead, merely stunned. But I can kill just as easily."

As if on cue, the fallen warrior groaned and sat up, holding his spinning head. "What happened?" he asked groggily.

One of the other warriors warily dismounted and went to his aid. "He is a wizard!" he answered as he helped his comrade to get to his feet. "He shot lightning at you!"

"Impossible!" the leader responded, now angry. "It's a trick!"

"Shall I demonstrate my power again?" S'Von retorted and brought his hand up once more.

"No! No!" the second warrior hurriedly cut in. "We will take you to Stefin! Here, Tavahk, get on your _hox_ and don't make any more trouble." The warrior helped his friend to mount and then handed up his pike to him before swinging back up onto his own beast. He rode slowly over to S'Von then reached down a hand and took his foot out of the stirrup, offering S'Von a step up. "You can ride with me, _sai_."

S'Von studied him for a moment, searching for any subterfuge, then grasped the proffered hand and mounted up behind him. Turning their _hoxa_ back the way they had come, the group broke into a gallop toward the hills in the east.

* * *

Admiral Komack was absolutely livid. James Kirk sat quietly before the comm screen in the Gateway science station's main briefing room, waiting for his regional commander to shout himself out. When Komack finally ran out of steam, Kirk repeated his question. "When can we go through and look for them?"

"What?! Never! Wasn't that clear, Kirk?!" the admiral responded, thoroughly red in the face. "This is the most colossal blunder I've ever known you to make! Letting a madman like that slip through your fingers is bad enough — but allowing him to go back to an unknown period in time on a major Federation world is — is —" He couldn't think of a word bad enough to express himself and finally just pounded his fist down on the table in frustration. "And with relations the way they are right now with the Vulcans —"

"Admiral Komack," Kirk said in a reasonable tone, trying to get the situation back under control, "I don't believe it's as bad as you seem to think."

" _You don't believe_ — Kirk, you're either an idiot or—"

"Admiral, let me finish!" the starship captain snapped in irritation. "Do you know of anything that's changed on Vulcan? Anything that is markedly out of the ordinary to you?"

"Well, no, but how could we tell? If the timeline has changed around us, we wouldn't know it, would we?"

"Hear me out, sir. When McCoy originally traveled back to Earth the first time we found the Guardian, we who were on Gateway were unaffected by the time change. I mean, we had all our memories and were aware that time had changed only because the _Enterprise_ had disappeared." Kirk took a deep breath. "Sir, I believe it's possible to tell if the timeline has changed. We can compare the research station's database of Vulcan history to that from Vulcan itself. Since we know that the records here on Gateway haven't changed, then we'll be able to find any discrepancies. I ask that you allow me to contact the Vulcan High Council and bring in a team of Vulcan specialists to help us search through the Guardian's time view until we find Dr. S'Von and Spock."

Komack was staring at him with a peculiar expression on his face. "Who did you say? S'Von and who?"

"Spock," Kirk repeated, puzzled. Komack didn't respond and Kirk repeated, "Mr. Spock. My first officer."

"Your first officer?! Kirk, what the hell kind of game are you playing here? You know bloody well that your first officer is Lt. Commander Marty O'Brien."

Kirk sat back in his chair, stunned speechless for a moment. _Oh, God..._ he thought. _It's happened. They_ have _changed history._ Cautiously he ventured, "Then you don't know Commander Spock?"

"Sounds like a Vulcan name. No, never heard of him. Anyway, you know there aren't any Vulcans serving in Starfleet. They won't serve anywhere but on their own ships. _Commander_ Spock, did you say? What is he? A ship commander in the Vulcan fleet? What ship?"

Kirk swallowed and took a deep breath to get his voice steady. "Sir, you don't realize it, but time _has_ changed around you. In _my_ world, Commander Spock of Vulcan, son of the Vulcan ambassador to Earth, has been my first officer for the past four years. He has served honorably in Starfleet for over eighteen years and been decorated for valor on several occasions."

"Impossible!"

"No, sir, I assure you that's how time is supposed to be running. It is now more imperative than ever that we get the Vulcans involved in this. We've got to get Spock and S'Von back to where they belong and change the timeline back as it should be."

Komack looked skeptical, but Kirk persisted. "Having the Vulcans search their records and comparing the records here may be the only way to find them, and, if you'll pardon the expression, sir, time is of the essence. They could change history even more at any time, in a hundred different ways."

The admiral sighed and finally answered, "All right, Kirk. I think you've gone completely mad, but if you're right, I suppose it _is_ the only option we have to determine what's right and what's wrong. Get on it at once. If the Vulcans agree to work with us on _this_ , then I suppose anything's possible. And good luck, Kirk. We're _all_ going to need it!"


	3. Chapter 3

Spock walked all day again, resting only when the sun beat down with particular ferocity in mid-afternoon. Even Vulcans didn't go out in the day's worst heat. The mid-meal and rest periods were always held then and activity was at a minimum until the sun began to lower into the west.

He had been headed north by northeast, the road following the general curve of the Se'han Hills as they skirted the Sas-a-Shar. He had been picturing a map of Vulcan in his mind as he walked and felt that he knew what lay at the southern end of the trail he followed. On the southwestern edge of the desert was the outpost of Al'Borak, in his day a small, rather inconsequential province whose major industry was salt and trace minerals mined from the hard pan of the desert. Quite probably he was following a caravan route between that area and ShiKahr.

Early in the afternoon, the path intersected a larger road running almost straight west to east and here his route curved and merged into the wider trail. Obviously this was a major thoroughfare and he had by this time a pretty good idea of where he was. This must be the road that ran between ShiKahr to the east and Tuldu'un to the west, one of the larger provinces.

And in the dust of the road was something he hadn't seen so far on his journey — evidence of other people. Well, not people exactly, but hoof prints made by _hoxa_ , the beautiful, fleet riding animals that had been standard transportation for millennia before technology replaced them with ground cars and air transports. The prints were headed east, toward Seleya, but he couldn't tell how old they were. The road showed signs of a lot of usage, so the prints could be anything from hours to weeks old. Nevertheless, it heartened him and he set out again.

But the hours passed unbroken by any other sign of life and the sun climbed relentlessly higher and burned down hotter on the weary traveler. Along the road, Spock found a _vinga_ bush in fruit and, although the berries weren't quite ripe, he nevertheless picked and ate all that were remotely palatable. It took the sharpest edge off his hunger, but didn't begin to satisfy him.

He kept walking until fatigue and the heat began to take their toll and he nearly fell as he stumbled on an uneven spot in the road. He told himself resolutely that he could keep going indefinitely, that to a Vulcan, sleep and food and water were of little consequence when pitted against the power of the mind. But his weary body told him otherwise. Finally he bowed to the logic of his situation. It was illogical to push oneself until complete collapse occurred. It was time to rest.

Unable to go any further, he found a shady spot in the lee of a rock face and slumped down beside it, closing his eyes. Completely exhausted, with even his Vulcan strength wavering, he gave in to the inevitable and sank back into the darkness engulfing him.

He might have slept there forever if it hadn't been for the scream.

He jerked awake, wondering if he'd been dreaming. The late afternoon was still except for the wind sighing around the rocks and the distant keen of a hunting _alo'oe_ soaring on the desert thermals. He sat up and ran a hand over his face, then peered up at the sun's position to see how much time had passed. A dream. It must have been a dream. Time to get going again.

He was just climbing to his feet when the scream ripped the day's quiet once again. It was coming from nearby and, this time, he determined that the sound had come from an animal, one that was terrified. A second later he understood why — the scratchy snarl of a _le'matya_ sounded from the same location.

Spock drew his phaser and cautiously approached the location of the two combatants. The sounds intensified, the cat's growls and hisses mingling with the clatter of hooves on rock and the frightened squeals of its prey.

As the Vulcan reached his destination, he peered cautiously over the rock face that separated them and stared at the battle just below him. The _le'matya_ had cornered a big gray _hox_ and was staying just out of reach of its slashing front hooves, but watching for an opportunity to leap in for the kill. This particular _hox_ was obviously someone's property. It was wearing full tack and trappings, the reins of its bridle still looped over its neck, carry bags hanging from its saddle.

Then Spock saw the body of a man lying motionless not far away at the side of the road. The science officer made a quick decision and took aim at the predator stalking the _hox_. The _le'matya_ disappeared in burst of light, causing the _hox_ to scream again and rear in terror.

Making sure that the cat's mate wasn't near, Spock then scrambled down the rock face and approached the trembling _hox_ , talking to it soothingly. Sides heaving, it nevertheless pricked its ears toward him and listened. When he was sure it wouldn't bolt, he left it and quickly went to the figure lying in the dust.

The man was dead, his neck broken. There were no other injuries on him, so Spock surmised that the _le'matya_ must have attacked the _hox_ , causing it to throw its rider. Then he sat back on his heels and studied the man.

His black hair was long and had been loosely tied with a leather thong. He was dressed in a style of clothing that Spock had never seen before although something about them was vaguely familiar. A long plain tunic overlay an undyed linen shirt, the sleeve hems laced snugly about the wrists and forearms, then the material blousing out from there. His breeches were leather and he wore laced knee-high, soft-soled boots. Splayed in the dust around him was a hooded cloak of a deep midnight blue, pinned at his throat with a silver and sapphire brooch, the only ornamentation in his attire. One hip sported a sheathed dagger and strapped around his waist was a sturdy leather belt from which hung the long thin scabbard of a sword.

Spock stood up and continued to stare down at the man, his attire beginning to click into place in the Vulcan's mind. The style of dress was incredibly ancient, on the order of 6,000 years or more. He could scarcely believe the truth of it, but finally resigned himself to the fact that the _when_ of his situation was Vulcan's far distant past, about 4,000 years pre-Reform. It was a barbaric, savage time in Vulcan's history with warring clans constantly fighting over water and land, when the highest technology was a weapon resembling a crossbow and the ability to smelt metal into swords and mail.

Had S'Von intended to come back to this time period or had it been an accident? He'd talked about going far enough back to circumvent Ni'ikhirchi power. There was still the question of where he was and how Spock was going to find him. But, for now, he decided to search the saddlebags on the _hox_ 's harness and see if they held anything useful.

The animal snorted and watched him warily as he came up alongside it. He patted the mottled gray hide in reassurance, then proceeded to open the bags and examine their contents. One of his first discoveries was a packet of journey bread, thick, round wafers of grain and fruit pounded together. He immediately broke off a piece and popped it into his mouth, chewing as he continued his search. Two or three would take the place of a meal and would satisfy his hunger for a day. On the other side of the _hox_ , he was delighted to find a full water bag hanging from the saddle and this he took advantage of at once, washing down the bread with a judicious mouthful.

The saddlebags contained nothing of real value — a change of shirts, more journey bread. A rolled blanket was tied behind the saddle. Deep in one saddlebag was a small drawstring pouch containing some golden coins, not a fortune, but enough to cover any needs while traveling. There was no clue to the man's identity or where he had come from. By the looks of his clothing and the trappings of the _hox_ , he must be from a large House, though. And the sword indicated that he was no simple messenger. Only Householders, Elder Sons and warriors would have owned such weapons. The swordsmith's art was an esoteric one and a sword was a prized possession, passed down with care and pride.

Spock realized something else. If he _were_ deep within the past, he was dressed entirely wrong. His Starfleet uniform would stand out like the proverbial sore thumb. His presence would cause enough questions as it was and he did not wish to generate more. He needed clothing that would blend in and, unfortunately, he could see only one logical source of obtaining it.

Walking back to where the man lay, Spock looked down at him and spoke to him, respecting an ancient belief that the _katra_ hovered around a person killed suddenly, looking either for a new home or the way to the next plane. "I grieve for thee, traveler," he said in the old ritual tongue. "Thy death diminishes the People and the diversity of our world. I ask forgiveness now for what I must do, but my need is great. I claim thy clothing and thy possessions as my own. In payment, I will lay thy body underneath a cairn so that it is not defiled."

With this said, he knelt back down and proceeded to undress the dead man. Once he had divested the other of his clothing, Spock picked up the body and carried the man to a long horizontal crevice he had spotted. Gently placing the body there, he spent the next hour carefully covering it over with rocks. It wouldn't stop the scavengers from digging up the corpse, but it was not proper to leave it lying in the open as if discarding a broken tool.

Once his grim job was done, Spock stood in silent meditation for a long moment, head bowed and fingers steepled before his face, preparing to recite the ritual of the _na'Tha'thhya_ , wishing the man's _katra_ peace and safe journey as it went to rejoin the great overlying consciousness of the _a'Tha_ , the spirit that lived within all things and bound each Vulcan together in a subtle, indefinable way. It wasn't anything so obvious as telepathy. Spock himself could not exactly explain it. The closest he had ever been able to come was when the _Intrepid_ had been destroyed and he'd felt the 400 Vulcans on board die. He had finally said to McCoy, "Call it a deep‑seated understanding of the way things happen to Vulcans." It was not a satisfactory explanation and it sounded simplistic and illogical to him, but there were just some things that could not be said in English or Galactic Standard. They were Vulcan concepts and had to be expressed in Vulcan to Vulcans. A human did not have the psychological or historical background to understand it.

His thoughts flicked briefly to the humans he knew and their erroneous belief that Vulcans were a non-spiritual people. Religion among humans was as varied as the individual, but one thing they had in common was the conviction that _their_ beliefs were the correct ones. And because Vulcans did not overtly practice religious ceremonies or publicly worship a creator god, most humans believed Vulcans to be atheistic, totally secular-minded beings. They simply did not understand that, to a Vulcan, spiritual beliefs were intensely personal and were not discussed outside the family group, particularly not in the noisy, contentious manner that humans proclaimed and argued and sometimes warred over their own religions. Usually the Eldest of a family tutored the younger members. And so, daunted though he might have been by his venerable great‑grandmother, as a boy Spock had taken his questions to T'Pau and had come to respect the formidable wisdom she had gained over her long lifespan.

Ready now, Spock lifted his head and clapped his hands together once to gain the attention of the ancestors. Then in Old Tongue, he spoke the formal words that opened the way for the _katra_.

"Hear the one who speaks! I am Spock, son of Sarek, son of Skon, of the Clan Ni'ikhirch. I address the ancestors of the one whose _katra_ awaits to enter your presence. The identity of this _katra_ is unknown to me, but he is known to Those Who Wait. He has died unable to pass his _katra_ to another that it might be fused into that one's living soul. Therefore take this spirit back where it may join again with the Creators and become One with Being. Welcome it, my Fathers, into the life-force of the People until it finds its way into heart and mind once more."

He clapped his hands again and bowed his head in the close of the ritual, then turned away from the grave.

Abruptly, the wind kicked up and a little dust devil whirled into being around him, blinding him and making him cough. He attempted to step out of it but it would not release him from its grasp. Indeed, it grew higher and stronger and the spinning sand choked and disoriented him. Throwing his arms up over his face, he again sought to escape, but vertigo slammed into him and he lost his footing, going down heavily into the dust. The sand continued to pummel him and he rolled up into a ball, protecting his face, covering his head with his arms.

The wind picked up in intensity and began to howl. It would not leave him alone. It poked and prodded and jabbed at him, blowing up his shirt and rushing across his back and chest. It almost seemed as if phantom fingers were probing into him, tickling, scratching, gouging. And then he felt something else in the whirlwind, a presence, hammering at his mind, searching for entry, demanding entry.

"No!" he shouted at it, still covering himself. "I'm not the one! Leave me!"

It would not. Indeed, it seemed to redouble its efforts, coming at him from all directions. The wind got underneath him, flipped him over, surged around him. As it tumbled him, he tried to get face down once more and rolled into a protected ball, but the whirlwind was too strong. Fighting to breathe and keep the choking sand out of his face, Spock inadvertently lowered his mental barriers to the presence battering its way into his mind. At once it leaped through the breach. He struggled to bar it but could not maintain the mental disciplines he needed while simultaneously battling the blasting wind.

Immediately, the presence overwhelmed him, engulfing his whole being in a tightly whirling cloud of energy and emotion, binding him, blanketing him. He cried out in protest and clutched his temples as the presence shot through synapses and down nerve fibers, deep into his brain, smothering him with its suffocating existence, soaking into his soul as water into sand, joining with him, fusing with his consciousness, becoming part of him.

Then it was over as abruptly as it had begun. The wind died away and the stillness of the desert afternoon fell once more. Slowly, the sand drifted back to the ground and Spock raised his head, blinking in confusion and coughing out the dust that had filled his lungs. He pushed himself up to a kneeling position and sat for some time, searching through his mind, sorting out the memories and emotions that had suddenly appeared. His own psyche still dominated and he knew that he had lost no part of himself, but below, on a lower level, he had acquired something new. A new part of himself that was settling in as if it had always been there.

He knew what had happened, though he had only read of it, had never actually seen it occur. He had undergone _katra'tolok_ , the invasion into one's mind of a remnant spirit _._ The traveler's _katra_ had refused to dissipate. Instead, it had identified a living host and the words of the _na'Tha'thhya_ had called it into him. It happened occasionally when the deceased possessed a very strong, stubborn will and there was unfinished business that it refused to release. If the _katra_ hadn't been planted into another body before the host died, the displaced spirit might forcefully invade the nearest living person.

Spock closed his eyes and concentrated. "Get _out!_ " he ordered and tried doggedly to force the invader from his mind, but it had already intertwined itself into his own _katra_ , the two melding into one. The interloper wouldn't budge, weaving itself ever deeper into Spock's consciousness. Strange how right it felt, how comfortable. Already he could scarcely distinguish it from his own self.

After determinedly struggling with the _katra_ for some time, he gave up trying, frustrated and angry. The thing was like a splinter under the skin that one could not worry free. He would just have to ignore it for the time being. Perhaps it would do no harm and would not bother him after he got used to its being there. In any case, he decided that he could not remove it from his mind by himself. If it proved too intrusive, he would have to seek out a Healer and have it ejected through a long and complicated mind meld. When he returned home — _if_ he got home — he made a note to himself to contact the High Priestess T'Lar and arrange to have the delicate procedure done. For the time being, he would pay it no more attention and see if it would fade away of its own accord.

This decided, he set up a psychic block around the interloping _katra_. It took mental discipline, but it was something he was well skilled in doing. His mental barriers now in place, he got to his feet, took a deep breath, and returned to the task at hand, examining his newly acquired clothing.

His Starfleet uniform was filthy and torn and wasn't smelling very fresh anymore. He was glad to get out of it. Generally a fastidious person, he'd been wearing the same clothes for four long, hot days. And it was with relief that he pulled his boots off. They definitely hadn't been designed for walking over miles of rocky terrain. His aching feet were blistered and bleeding, making him realize that once the boots came off, he wouldn't be getting them back on for a while. His boot stockings were stuck to his skin with dried blood and he winced as he peeled them off, pulling open the blisters again. For a few moments, he sat examining the damage to his feet, already beginning to swell painfully now that the confining leather boots were gone. He wished fleetingly for a medkit and antiseptic salve, but he dismissed the thought quickly, it being just as productive to wish for a hot meal and beaker of _saya_. He stripped off his blue tunic and picked up the linen shirt.

The dead man was much his size, though broader through the shoulders and a little bit taller, he estimated. All the clothing had been hand-sewn with small, neat stitches and he dressed quickly, admiring the work in the garments. These had been carefully made and evidenced a prosperous house. Sitting down on a rock, Spock pulled on the soft-soled boots and laced them up. They felt wonderful and immediately reminded him of the shoes he'd always worn at home. He'd hardly ever worn hard-soled Terran footwear until he became a cadet at the Academy and such boots were part of the uniform.

Once dressed in his new attire, Spock folded up his uniform and stuffed it into one of the saddlebags. The boots were a problem, but he managed to stow them in the carrysack tied to the saddle. His tricorder and communicator were also slipped into the bag, but his phaser he kept with him. He tore two long strips of cloth from his ripped black t-shirt and fashioned them into a belt. The phaser had a strip of fabristik along its sides which enabled it to cling tenaciously to woven cloth such as cotton or linen. It would have stuck quite nicely to the linen shirt but Spock wanted it out of sight. He slapped the weapon against his make-shift cotton belt and adjusted it so that he could get at it underneath the tunic. Buckling on the dagger belt around his hips, he settled it so that it wouldn't interfere with his phaser.

Then he turned his attention to the sword, still in the leather scabbard dangling from the double-wrapped belt that supported it. Designed to absorb impact, the bone-sheathed hilt was tightly wrapped in leather, long enough that it could be wielded either one- or two-handed. The guard was a straight polished length of brass with downward pointing tips. The pommel was a simple round, also of brass, but set into it was a fiery red crystal, rounded and unfaceted. A fine weapon but ordinary enough.

And then he drew it from its scabbard.

The sword seemed to burst into flame and burn with a light all its own. Its radiance lit up the surrounding area with a blazing incandescence, nearly blinding him. Hastily, he shoved the weapon back into its scabbard. The light shut off.

Amazed, he stared at the sword, so unassuming when sheathed, and wondered if it had truly shone that way or if it was just reflected sunlight. Cautiously, he drew it again, careful not to expose more than an inch or so. Again, the sword seemed to flare, and now he determined that the highly polished finish flashed like a mirror. Nevertheless, he could see now that the blade was intricately engraved, Golic runes and brass filigreed swirls chased over the silver surface. He eased the sword out of the scabbard a bit more and saw that the chasing tapered off and the rest of the blade was pure and free of ornamentation, its edge honed to razor sharpness.

It was beautiful. And as deadly as a photon blast. It felt very good in his hand, the weight just right, and it sang to something so deep within him that he could scarcely recognize it when it answered. It was a feeling of wildness, of savage power. It was the voice of his ancestors, surging up from the unimaginable depths of time, echoing through his soul like the howl of a storm across Vulcan's Forge.

For a fraction of a second, he found himself on a battlefield, surrounded by the bodies of his enemies, slain by his own hand. The wind billowed and snapped his cape around him and swept his long black hair from his face, a face wrought from granite and fire. He thrust the bloodied sword into the air and shouted with victory, and his troops answered back with a roar of acclamation.

Staggered, Spock closed his eyes and shook his head, clearing the bizarre vision from his mind. It had not been him and yet it had been. Was it a future he had seen? Or an alternate timeline? Or had he glimpsed some other man's life, perhaps the dead man he had just buried, the previous owner of the weapon, a fraction of _katra_ -vision triggered by the sword?

Unable to understand what had just happened, he slid the sword back into its sheath and then, almost without conscious will, wrapped the sword belt around his waist, buckling it in place. The weight of the sword was scarcely noticeable, so well-balanced was the weapon and its support. Something whispered that this was _his_ sword — always had been his sword, that it was back where it belonged at his side and they had been reunited into a proper symmetry.

It felt good and as if a missing part was back in its true setting. And, if there was a small flame of barbarism and savagery beginning to flare deep within him, if he breathed a little deeper of the hot clean desert air, and felt a kinship with the untamed _alo'oe_ soaring above him on the rising evening thermals ... then that was good and right as well. He had sprung from this land. He was home.

With a flourish, he swirled the midnight blue cape around his shoulders and pinned it into place. Walking toward the gray _hox_ that awaited him, he felt like a different person. Suddenly, he felt that he belonged here in this world, in this time, and that the other Spock, the starship officer, was only a fading dream. Logic seemed a distant, meaningless concept to him, a waste of energy when one had fine steel at his side.

The _hox_ had stood remarkably calm when Spock had been battered and thrown about by the whirlwind, as if not surprised at what was happening, and now it tossed its head in recognition of its new master, champing at the bit in its mouth. Spock patted its thick neck then gathered the reins in one hand as he grasped the saddle, put his foot in the stirrup and swung up onto the animal's back. This felt _right_ , too, as if it was where he was meant to be. He paused for a second to puzzle over this, for it made no sense to him. Although he had ridden _hoxa_ occasionally as a child, it had been on a recreational basis. He had very little experience with the beasts and surely should not feel as comfortable in the saddle as he did now. But something about this particular _hox_ bespoke confidence and partnership, though Spock couldn't explain why he felt this. He shook the sensation away as unimportant. The saddle fit him like a glove and he felt empowered in his new guise.

A strange feeling of excitement suffusing him, Spock turned the _hox_ eastward toward Seleya, looming on the horizon, and touched his heels to the animal's flanks. The _hox_ snorted in eagerness and broke into a smooth gallop down the wide, dusty road.


	4. Chapter 4

**_One year prior..._ **

To S'Von's eyes, the Holding of D'Khahl was not much more than a hill fort with a stockaded wall surrounding it. Nowhere near grand, it sat atop defensible high ground overlooking the surrounding low hills. The craggy mountains that towered behind it formed a rugged backdrop to the blocky main hall and outbuildings. A dark green banner with a white _s'wu'un_ fluttered atop the watch tower.

Outside the walls, animals were grazing on the parched grass — shaggy-coated _hoxa_ and a sparse herd of the small, long-haired milking beasts called _paran_ , their horn-bells tinkling faintly as they moved. Several boys watched over them to keep them from straying too far, armed with long sticks in case the creatures decided to be obstinate in their wandering. Two of the bigger boys were engaged in mock combat with the sticks, pretending they were _lirpa_ and bashing away at each other. Near the front gate, several women were scraping hides stretched on frames, tanning them into leather. Another was presiding over a large steaming stone cauldron, although whether it contained food or was part of the tanning process was unclear.

As the group of riders approached the fort, the boys left their herding and began running through the grass toward them, yelling and brandishing their _paran_ sticks. The women stopped work and watched them come and more people came out of the gates to greet them. The boys reached the riders and trotted alongside them, pointing at S'Von and calling to companions to come see the stranger. They had attracted quite a crowd by the time they had reached the open gates.

Inside the stockade, the Holding didn't look any more promising than it had from the outside. The bare dirt court was hard-packed from use but none-too-clean. A flock of domestic _h'nan_ scratched and pecked among rotting food that was strewn outside the kitchen, occasionally breaking into a squabble over a choice bit. Over on one side, near the stables, a man was holding a _hox_ by its head while another man straddled one of its rear feet, filing down an overgrown hoof. Several women drew water from a deep well and paused to watch the riders curiously.

S'Von sighed to himself. An unlikely place to start a conquest, but these people were his ancestors and he intended to make this Holding over into a great kingdom.

The riders stopped and dismounted before the door to the main hall and S'Von was escorted inside. The place was dark and smelled of smoke from the fire pit in the center of the room. Several haunches of meat were spitted over the coals, slowly roasting for the next meal, the grease dripping and sizzling among the embers. The scientist felt his stomach lurch at the sight. He knew it was logical that these people ate meat, but he had no intention of defiling himself in such a manner.

Sitting before the fire, carefully wrapping a leather thong around the shaft of a spear, was a lanky, hollow-cheeked man. The warriors stopped and bowed to him, then the one S'Von had ridden with addressed him. "My lord, we found this man trespassing on your lands, but there is something marvelous strange about him. He has the power of lightning in his hands. He struck a bolt at Tavahk and knocked him unconscious."

The Holder Stefin stared skeptically at the stranger. "What nonsense is this?" he finally demanded.

"I swear, lord! We all witnessed it!"

Stefin rose to his feet and faced them. "So, you hope to gain entrance to my house with cheap tricks that any court fool could do?"

" _Sai_ , these are not tricks," S'Von answered calmly. "I have come to set in motion events that will change the future. I have come to make this House into the greatest ruling dynasty on Vulcan."

Stefin did an elaborate scan of his small, dingy hall, then laughed mirthlessly. "Your power must be great, indeed, stranger. How do you propose to do this mighty work?"

" _Sai_ , my name is S'Von cha'Sekin hei-Kh'd'Khahl."

Stefin stared at him coldly, his eyes narrowing. "I don't know who you are, traveler, but you are _not_ of this House. We are not a large clan and I know every member of my family and court. How dare you claim kinship with me?!"

"Because I _am_ your kinsman, _sai_. You do not know me because I have not yet been born."

There was dumbstruck silence throughout the hall at this extraordinary statement, then the Holder demanded, "What?"

"I said I have not yet been born. I come from a time in the far distant future. I am your distant descendant."

Incredulous laughter broke out among the people in the hall and comments such as "He's mad" and "Throw him back outside the gates" were heard. Throughout it, S'Von stood silently, his eyes locked on Stefin. Finally, the Holder growled angrily, "You must take me for as big a fool as you are!"

" _Sai_ , I will prove my claim to you," S'Von answered. "I bring powerful devices that can slay everyone in this room ... or put them to sleep just as easily." He drew out a number one phaser and thumbed it onto wide-field stun mode. "I will demonstrate, so that you may believe."

Without further warning, S'Von turned and pressed the trigger on the phaser, sweeping the broad blue beam quickly around the room. In its path, people fell unconscious as if mowed down by a scythe, collapsing to lie in limp heaps of tangled limbs and bodies.

Stefin gasped and leaped back, staring in amazement. "By the gods of my fathers!" he managed to exclaim.

S'Von turned back to him. "They will awake in a moment. They are not harmed. But, hear me, Holder, I could have killed them all or made them vanish in a burst of fire."

Around the room, bodies began to stir and moans erupted as people clutched their aching heads and began to sit up. One by one, they began to climb unsteadily to their feet, some reaching down a hand to assist another. A couple managed to stumble outside before doubling over and retching. One or two others didn't make it that far.

Stefin was still gaping in shock at the small man before him. "How is this possible?!"

"I told you, _sai_ , I come from a time yet to be. I am of this House and I intend to guide you in becoming the greatest Holder of all time. Together, we will assure that D'Khahl will rule Vulcan. Now, do you have a place where we can speak in private?"

* * *

Somewhere along the road, Spock stopped thinking of his mount as "the _hox_ " and began addressing it as Brax. There was no compelling reason why he should call it this, but he came to believe that this was the stallion's name. It meant "fast" and the animal was aptly named. Perhaps Brax himself had communicated the information. _Hoxa_ were empathic with their riders and this one seemed to have decided that Spock was now its master. At any rate, once this fact was established, Spock felt even more comfortable and accepted that part of his new situation.

Astride the swift animal, it took only about three hours to reach the next water source. This one was no mere mud puddle. A vibrant spring bubbled up in the midst of an oasis, overshaded by _disa_ trees, heavy-laden with fruit. A carpet of grass spread around the pool and proved so inviting that Spock decided to stop and camp here. The sun was beginning to lower into the western sky, about an hour or so until sunset. He was only about an hour's ride away from his destination at Seleya but he did not know what he would find when darkness finally came. It was more prudent to camp for the evening and go on fresh in the morning.

He was out of the Se'han Hills now, the land changing from desert to open rolling land covered with sparse grass and stunted trees. It was an interlude before the land rose again into the angular volcanic mountain range lying to the east. This area was the beginning of the Llangon Hills and its lower regions had been populated since recorded time. It was well watered from the runoff of the mountains and more temperate than the true desert to the south and southwest.

If his calculations were correct and he was where he believed himself to be, by tomorrow morning he should reach the cultivated area surrounding the base of Mt. Seleya. At least, that's what he hoped he would find.

He unsaddled and unbridled Brax and briefly considered hobbling him so that he wouldn't wander, but a decidedly disapproving impression came over him and he left the stallion to crop the grass unfettered. As he leaned back against the trunk of one of the trees and leisurely ate the _disa_ fruit from the bunch he had pulled down, he considered what his next move should be.

Except for the dead traveler, he had seen no people at all since arriving here. He had dropped his plans to reach ShiKahr as soon as he had realized _when_ he was in history. The city didn't exist in this time period. It wouldn't be founded for another 4,000 years. He ran over in his mind what he knew of this time. Vulcan was divided into hundreds of warring clans and kingdoms. Boundaries shifted constantly as blood feuds rocked back and forth over water rights and grazing lands. His family had held Seleya for as far back as memory allowed, but did it go _this_ far back? Did his clan even exist? Perhaps, but not as the Talek-sen-deen, the Clan of Surak. The great teacher was millennia in the future, the distant descendant of the people Spock sought. Perhaps he could find them by using the old name, Kh'da'Ni'ikhirch. It would be hard to explain his presence, though. He'd have to come up with some plausible story.

Abruptly, the other voice inside him insisted belligerently, _No! You are the Heir! Kh'Liorah is yours! Claim your rightful place!_

Spock grimaced and rubbed the bridge of his nose. What had made _that_ go through his mind? The Heir? The "Bright One" was his? That made no sense whatsoever. Yes, in his own time, he was Spock cha'Sarek, the only child of his father and therefore heir to all the family holdings, but that meant nothing here. Here he was a "stranger in a strange land" and he would be at a disadvantage. But he had to find people. He couldn't survive alone and without a clan around him. To be outcast from a House was a literal death sentence. One without a clan might as well lie down in the Forge and await the coming of noon. Both conclusions were the same.

As the sun dropped lower toward the horizon, he roused himself and began to make camp. There was deadwood and brush among the trees and Spock gathered as much firewood as he could find. It took most of the remaining daylight to locate enough to insure a fire that would last through the night and keep predators at bay. By the time the wood was gathered and the kindling arranged, the sun had set.

After laying the wood, Spock reached underneath his tunic and took out his phaser. A quick shot and the wood burst into flame. Satisfied, Spock stuck the phaser back against his belt and dug into the saddlebags for a couple more wafers of journey bread.

Poking the fire once or twice, he pulled his cloak closer around him. With the waning of daylight, the desert temperatures had begun to drop and there was a decided chill in the evening air, a sharp contrast to the day's heat. He wondered what season it was? Granted, Vulcan's seasonal changes were slight but they occurred nonetheless. He looked up at the stars beginning to appear in the moonless sky. What constellations were visible? That should tell him the time of year it was.

The edge of T'Ael the Dancer was just showing over the eastern mountains, the diamond stars on her shoulders barely high enough to see. Spock had learned those stars as S'Sahn and Kh'Tal, then discovered later that the Terran-made star maps listed them as Bellatrix and Betelgeuse. Overhead, higher in the sky, burned the baleful red fire of Vorikh'an — Aldebaran — and close by was the lovely little star cluster the humans called the Pleiades.

Constellations were changeable things, of course, depending on the point in space from which they were viewed, but here on Vulcan the stars and their patterns weren't substantially different from the way they were seen on Earth, only 16 lightyears distant. And, although the individual positions of the stars had changed marginally here 6,000 years in the past, Spock was still easily able to recognize them and recall basic, primary school astronomy.

The positions of the stars told him what he wanted to know — he was in early autumn, probably the period of et'Khior, maybe T'lahkt. Summer harvest would be well underway and the winter sowing would soon start. The rains would begin before too long, quenching the long thirst of Vulcan's deserts and cooling the temperatures to what a human would find barely comfortable hot and humid, but which a Vulcan invariably suffered through as impossibly chill and damp. The knowledge only reinforced Spock's need to find his clan and shelter for the coming winter.

The night was quiet and he continued to gaze at the stars overhead. Somewhere out there, in the unimaginably distant future, there was a ship circling one of those stars and people were looking for him ... he hoped. Perhaps they no longer existed, _would_ never exist. He had no way of knowing if his presence here — and S'Von's — would change the timeline that was meant to be ... or if their being here was part of that history, creating the world he would someday be born into. He sighed and looked back down at the fire. The odds of them ever finding him were astronomical. He couldn't even begin to calculate the number.

His thoughts drifted to another time in the past and another planet, this one gripped by the iron clutches of ice and snow. He thought of the woman he'd found there and of the warmth of her arms and sweetness of her lips. Odd that he should think of her and that the feelings she had stirred within him should once again begin to rise. He realized that the disquieting rumble of unbridled emotions and the untamed savagery of his ancestors was building in him once more, even as it had then. That time it had taken only a few hours for the stirring volcano inside him nearly to erupt. He had barely restrained himself from killing McCoy and remaining with Zarabeth forever. He'd been here four days already. Would he totally revert?

Zarabeth had said to him, "You can't get back. You are trapped here in the past, just as you are."

Was he trapped _here?_ He could fathom no way to return to his own time. Unlike the Atavachron, there was no convenient portal leading to a central library. The only clue he had to returning was that twice before he had used the Guardian of Forever to travel into the past and, in both cases, the Guardian seemed to know when his mission was complete and pulled him back to the present. Would it do so again? But how could he accomplish his mission when he wasn't even certain that S'Von was in the same time period? He could be anywhere ... any _time_ ...

Spock had the same overwhelming sense of despair he'd felt on Sarpeidon, his world lost to him and no hope of rescue. But there was no Zarabeth here to comfort him, no McCoy to spar and argue with. He was alone here, unless he could find his clan and join them.

Then, mentally, he reprimanded himself for giving up hope. Things were not so bleak as they had been on Sarpeidon. At least this time he was on his own homeworld, not far from the place he was — would be — born. And the road he was following might be the pathway home. Tomorrow would tell.

He was now in the Llangon Hills, the uplands that culminated in Seleya itself. The place had special meaning for him. It was in the barren upper regions of Llangon that he had tested himself in the _kahs'wan_ and where he had lost his childhood companion, i-Chaya. The old _sehlat_ had insisted on following him and had saved his life when the boy was attacked by a _le'matya._

Spock's reverie deepened as he pondered the double memory he had of that event. It was one of those ironic paradoxes of time travel. His pet _sehlat_ would not have been enough to insure that he survived the _kahs'wan_. It had been the presence of a distant cousin, Selek, who had appeared suddenly the day before and then disappeared a day or so after, that had been the deciding factor. The irony of it was that Selek had been himself, gone back through the Guardian in order to assure that the boy — again himself — would survive into adulthood so that he could go back into time and save himself ...

He shook his head. Time was a loop as well as a branching tree. No wonder people had gone mad trying to unravel its intricacies.

Brax ambled over and nudged him, purring softly. Spock rubbed the _hox_ 's soft muzzle and then shoved him gently away. "Go to sleep. We still have a long way to go tomorrow." Brax responded by shoving back, pushing his master over. "Okay, yes, I will sleep as well," the Vulcan answered good-naturedly. Brax snorted and moved away slightly.

Pulling one of the saddlebags over to use as a pillow, Spock wrapped himself in his cloak and made himself as comfortable as possible, settling down and clearing his mind for sleep.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**_Eleven months prior..._ **

The woman screamed and clutched her child as the party of armed _hox_ men thundered into the small village, loosing mayhem as they went. She turned and ran as fast as she could across the dusty central square, burdened by the two-year-old boy she carried. She hadn't gone twenty steps before one of the _hox_ men cut her down then galloped on past without looking back, seeking his next target.

The village men rushed to meet the invaders, armed with whatever weapon they could find, and fought furiously. It was to no avail. The armored riders countered with sword, _lirpa_ , war axe and mace and, within minutes, the village men lay in slashed and battered heaps, sprawled in spreading emerald pools of their own blood.

Then the looting began. The warriors dismounted to systematically search through the huts and small houses of the village, stripping them of anything of value — furs, gold jewelry, an occasional sword or dagger that hadn't been snatched up in time to do its owner any good. Barns were raided and soon a small herd of _hoxa_ were being driven off toward D'Khahl. The dead or wounded were stripped of any weapon or thing of worth.

The looting of the women began, too. Young, strong and beautiful were seized and carried bodily away. Too old and too young were slaughtered on the spot. Many others met still another fate.

On one side street, three warriors dragged a screaming, struggling woman from one of the houses. She fought them like a thing gone wild, refusing to submit. Finally, one of the warriors backhanded her across the face, the impact of his mail gauntlet knocking her to the ground. As she lay stunned by the blow and tried feebly to resist, he knelt and ripped her clothing apart, baring her body to their scrutiny, then he fell upon her while the other two held her down. When he had finished with her, the others took their turns.

By the time they were done, she was only whimpering in despair, lying limply in their grasp. The first warrior reached down with one hand to drag her head back by the hair, then quickly and cleanly slit her throat with his knife. She clutched at the slash and rolled frantically in the dust, then lay still, her blood spreading out in a dark green pool. The warriors had already mounted their _hoxa_ and ridden away, laughing.

At last the village had been thoroughly ransacked and the vast majority of its inhabitants lay dead or dying in the central square. Several of the invaders had sobbing women or girls lying across their laps as they reined their _hoxa_ toward home, others gleefully brandishing other booty of the raid.

On the hilltop overlooking the village site, Stefin and S'Von sat astride their _hoxa_ observing the pandemonium. There had been no burning, for S'Von had given strict orders against it. He had something special in mind. As the D'Khahli warriors cleared out of the village, one of them dragged a bloodied and disheveled man behind him, stumbling through the grass at the end of a rope. When the rider reached their location, he reined in his _hox_ and jerked on the rope so that the man fell forward onto his face.

As the villager struggled up onto his knees, Stefin addressed him coldly. "What's your name?"

The man didn't answer for a minute and that earned him a kick from the warrior's boot. When he picked himself up once more, he blinked the blood out of his one good eye, the other swollen shut now, and answered shakily, "My name is Tefik, lord."

"And what are you to this village?"

"Lord, I am a tanner of hides. Nothing more."

"Well, Tefik, tanner of hides, I have a job for you," Stefin informed him. The man peered up at him in a puzzled manner. Stefin explained, "All I want you to do is go to your Lord Holder, Supak, and tell him what you have seen here today. Tell him of the power of Stefin hei-D'Khahl and the wizard from the stars that has come to make this House great. Observe." And he nodded to S'Von.

The scientist had been sitting silently astride his black mare, his cloak whipping around him on the windy hilltop. Now, he urged his _hox_ forward and took out from underneath his cloak a device that no one present could comprehend. It was, in fact, a phaser rifle, assembled from parts that had come out of S'Von's backpack, and now, as all watched, he brought it up to his shoulder, took aim and fired.

To the tune of the rifle's shriek, a searing red beam swept over the thatch roofs of the village and they burst into flame wherever the beam touched. S'Von played it all across the village and in short order the huts were consumed in a raging fire. From their depths those who were wounded and been left to die began to scream in hideous, high-pitched voices as the fire devoured them.

The village man watched in shocked horror and began to sob hysterically at the atrocity before him. No less frightening was the fire device of the wizard, who now rode calmly back to the group, the stock of his rifle propped against his thigh. He looked coldly down at the quivering man and said, "Tell your Holder that we are coming. We will burn his sons in front of him before we level his stronghold. Nothing can stand before us. You tell him this."

"Put him on a _hox_ ," Stefin ordered and the man was dragged up by two warriors and plopped on one of the shaggy animals that had been captured in the village. "Now, ride!"

Barely had the man managed to get a grip on the reins and scrubby mane of his mount before one of the warriors slapped the _hox_ sharply on the haunches and it squealed and bolted away. They watched as the man rode out of sight.

Stefin turned to S'Von to find the newcomer's face hard and inscrutable. In truth, Stefin was horrified by the carnage he had observed, but he could not argue with the women, _hoxa_ and treasures that he now had in his possession. More importantly, this land was now his, added to the holding's not very substantial acreage.

"And now?" he questioned S'Von.

The other man glanced at him. "That village fool will begin to spread the word of your mightiness. We will make more raids like this one and soon your reputation will precede you. When you finally face Supak, he will be so frightened of you, he will be glad to ally with you in exchange for your sparing his lands and people. We will follow this course of action until we are ready. And then..." His caramel-colored eyes hardened with seething hatred. "And then we march on Seleya and dispose of Ni'ikhirchi arrogance once and for all."

* * *

Spock was awakened by the simple act of having a boot planted in the middle of his back and being shoved onto his face. Startled and angry, he rolled over and glared up at the big, broad‑shouldered man standing over him, hands on hips. There were two others present, mounted on _hoxa._

Spock started to get up but the big man stopped him by drawing his sword and placing the point in the middle of Spock's chest. "Who are you?" the man demanded. "And why are you using our water without permission?"

"My name is Spock," the science officer replied, pragmatic enough not to argue with a person holding him at sword-point. "And I didn't know this was your water."

"You should have asked now, shouldn't you?"

" _Sai_ , that is not logical. How could I ask—"

"Shut up," the man suggested unpleasantly, prodding the sword point a bit, then he backed off and motioned with the weapon. Spock got to his feet and stood facing the other Vulcan. "Now, what's your business here?"

" _Sai_ , I am a traveler from a distant land and I am on my way to Seleya. I am seeking the House of Ni'ikhirch."

The other man raised an eyebrow. "Indeed? Why?"

Spock suddenly felt the need to be wary and exhibit a bit of strength himself. "I believe _that_ is _my_ business, _sai_. You have not stated who _you_ are, after all." Pointedly, he let his hand rest on the hilt of his sword and kept his gaze steady on the warrior's eyes. "I wish you no trouble, only to go on my way."

The big warrior looked around at his companions. "Only to go on his way, huh? I think this one needs an escort, don't you, Stahl?"

One of the men on _hox_ back, who had been watching the exchange with interest, gave a lop-sided, rather nasty grin. "Well, we can't have strangers galloping freely about the Lord's lands now, can we, Temek? He might be a spy, after all. Although if _this_ is the best that D'Khahli bastard can do, then we have nothing to worry about."

Temek gave a harsh laugh and turned back to Spock. "Saddle your _hox_ and be quick about it. The sun is already well above Llangon."

Spock didn't move for a few seconds, then tightened his grip on the sword hilt.

The warrior called Stahl sighed in an elaborately bored manner and looked away, as if Spock's implied threat were too insignificant to notice. "Don't waste our time with a pathetic show of bravura. Just get your beast saddled and let's get going."

Glancing at the other two warriors, Spock gave up and followed orders. It would have been highly illogical to resist when out-numbered three to one. As he went to where his _hox_ waited, he found Brax with his ears laid back and nostrils flared. A feeling of cold hatred swept over him and, for a moment, he hesitated, thinking it was directed at him. Then Spock realized that the _hox_ was staring icily at the other men. He patted the animal on the neck in reassurance and tossed the saddle blanket up over the broad back.

* * *

Jim Kirk dug the heels of his hands into his tired eyes and rubbed them. Then, stretching to get the kinks out of his back and shoulders, he resumed his scrutiny of the computer screen in front of him. He'd been at this for hours now, along with the two Vulcan historians working with him. They didn't seem fatigued at all, but then he wasn't surprised by their quiet stamina. He'd seen it often enough in Spock.

After his conversation with Admiral Komack, Kirk had placed a priority one call to the Vulcan High Council and, after going through various diplomatic levels, had ultimately ended up with what could best be described as the Undersecretary of Extraplanetary Affairs, a dour-looking middle-aged woman who stared silently back at him while he explained the situation. As Kirk got deeper into his explanation, her expression became more and more disapproving and impatient. It was not an expression he'd ever expected to see on a Vulcan, but he almost expected her to begin drumming her fingers on her desk at any point.

Finally, she seemed to realize how much irritation she was showing, for she blinked as if to reset her features into that of diplomatic neutrality. "What you describe is indeed most grave, Captain Kirk," she announced. "I confess that I do not recognize the name of the person you seem to have lost here — Spock, is it? — but if your other man, this Dr. S'Von, is D'Khahli, then of course we must respond. The Emperor would be most distressed to find a member of his family missing."

_Emperor?_ echoed Kirk mentally, trying to contain his surprise and foreboding, but he said nothing.

"We will dispatch a team to your aid at once," the Vulcan woman informed him. "You can expect our ship to arrive within the next day or so." And the screen went abruptly blank.

Kirk's headache increased. Everything was wrong here. Vulcan ruled by an Emperor? How could that be? They were one of the most universally democratic races in the Federation, with over 90% of the planetary population participating in voting and decision-making. The High Council oversaw the top level of government, but most of the Council seats changed owners on a regular basis as citizens carried out their duty to serve the Vulcan people as a whole.

The emotional control, logic and precision that came as naturally as breathing for Vulcans was missing here as well. And the fact that no one seemed to have any knowledge of Spock or his family caused the Captain's gut to twist into a veritable knot. Although Spock would never do anything as gauche and dishonorable as mentioning the vast wealth of his clan, the fact of the matter was that his family held power and prestige that reached far beyond the confines of Vulcan and out into the heart of the Federation itself. Sarek, his father, held a permanent seat on the Federation Council as Vulcan's ambassador and was one of its most forceful and outspoken members.

Now Kirk wondered if that had changed, as well. He made a note to check on the whereabouts — or even the existence — of Sarek of Vulcan, Ambassador Plenipotentiary.

While they were waiting for the Vulcan scientists to arrive, Kirk had gone back out with Dr. Amy Dean, head of the archaeology team assigned to study the Guardian of Forever. The Federation scientist and starship officer had returned to the portal, where the enigmatic being had obligingly replayed the section of history into which Spock and S'Von had vanished. This was recorded into a specially designed tricorder. Taking the recording back to the science research station, they had fed it into the library computer's databanks and slowed it down for analysis.

Kirk had briefly considered returning to the _Enterprise_ , then quickly vetoed that idea. Gateway seemed to exist in a protective "bubble", immune from whatever time changes might be generated. If they had returned to the ship, time could change around them and they'd never realize it. This way they were insulated from that threat and would be in a better position to analyze any potential changes that Spock or S'Von might have caused in the past.

Later that day, the Vulcan science ship _Kahs'Khiori_ had streaked out of warp like its namesake, a shooting star, and swung into orbit behind the big Federation starship. Shortly thereafter, the two historians, T'Lon and her assistant, Sekht, plus two computer analysts, beamed down to the research station. Kirk and Dr. Dean were in the transporter room to meet them.

Kirk was momentarily shocked to see that the Vulcans were wearing what he assumed — hoped — were ceremonial daggers. A deeply peaceful people, those outside of military or law enforcement service simply did not go around armed. In fact, outside of Spock, he didn't think he'd ever seen a Vulcan casually wear a weapon at any time. He damped down his surprise and turned his attention to the greetings.

"Welcome, Dr. T'Lon," the lead archaeologist greeted them. "It's good to see you again." She nodded courteously to the other team members. "This is Captain James Kirk of the starship _Enterprise_. He witnessed the accident and will be assisting us in the search for Commander Spock and Dr. S'Von."

"Peace and long life, my friend, and to you, Captain," the Vulcan responded, lifting her hand in salute. "We come to serve."

"Vulcan honors us with your service," Kirk answered, returning the salute a bit stiffly.

T'Lon acknowledged him then addressed Dean. "Where may we set up?"

"We have the recordings from the Guardian ready for you in the main briefing room. I didn't realize there would be four of you coming."

T'Lon glanced briefly at her companions. "Historians Salek and Tokohl are here to compare your databanks with ours. We hope in this way to discover any changes that may have occurred in the timeline."

"Ahh," Dr. Dean replied. "In that case, if you'll come with me, I'll have our technicians meet us and work with these gentlemen on that project."

The scientist and starship captain led the Vulcan team from the transporter room and to the main conference center. More of Dean's people were waiting and took charge of the Vulcan technicians. T'Lon and Sekht set promptly to work reviewing and replaying the Guardian's timeview and whittling down the areas they wanted to search. To actually watch history being played out before their eyes drew frequent, reverent comments of "Fascinating!" and what sounded suspiciously like arguments between the two in Vulcan.

Feeling personally responsible for his first officer's recovery, Kirk joined them in the search, hoping against hope that some miracle would occur and they would track down the two missing men quickly. But the hours dragged on and they were no closer, it seemed, than when they first started.

Two days had now passed and they had been meticulously inspecting every face in every scene of the recording for Spock and/or S'Von. They had narrowed the search pattern down to the fifty years or so immediately prior to the point where the Guardian ended its playback, reasoning that the stream of history stopped upon Spock and S'Von passage through the portal. From this point, the computer was able to narrow the search down somewhat by comparing the features of the two missing men against all those that appeared on the recording and eliminating obvious mismatches. But they were going through years of history from all over the planet. They had absolutely no idea when or where the two could be. It was like trying to find the proverbial needle in the haystack.

Kirk had known Spock for years and felt that he was as familiar with his first officer's face as with his own. He was certain that he could pick Spock out of any crowd of Vulcans one cared to gather. Now he wasn't so sure. After the tenth or so time of thinking he'd found him, only to be proved wrong, the faces in the crowds were beginning to blur together. He'd never realized how much Vulcans resembled each other.

Well, not to other Vulcans, he was sure. That was one of the reasons the Vulcan historians were conducting the search. To them, it had been obvious that the faces Kirk had pinpointed did not belong to Spock or S'Von. Their faces were as readily identifiable to other Vulcans as Kirk's was to other humans. And, with a start, the captain realized something else — that to most Vulcans, all humans looked alike, too. Considerably humbled, Kirk vowed to be more diligent in his searching.

He took a sip from his coffee cup and grimaced. Stone cold. It was past time for a break, he decided, as well as a meal. He stood up, his back protesting its long hours bent to the viewing screen, and asked, "Excuse me, doctors, but I must check in with my ship. Then would you care to join me for a meal?"

"Thank you, Captain Kirk, but we do not require nourishment at this time," T'Lon responded with just a hint of annoyance. "There is too much material to analyze yet and it would be illogical to waste time in recreational dining."

For a split second, Kirk had to stop himself from reacting with the same _how did I know you were going to say that?_ expression he would have automatically given his second in command. But these Vulcans would likely be offended by it, so he merely afforded them an acknowledging nod. "Of course, Dr. T'Lon," he answered. "You're completely right. If you'll pardon me for a moment, I'll just check in and then I hope you won't mind if I order a sandwich for myself." He smiled. "Illogical or not, I'm hungry!"

"Please do, Captain," T'Lon replied. "Dr. Sekht and I will eat at the appropriate time."

"Indeed, Captain," Sekht added. "But we prefer to continue our analysis for the moment."

Kirk nodded again and carried his cold coffee over to the refreshments counter and poured it down the sink. Punching the intercom button, he called the bridge. Lt. Palmer answered, which surprised him for a minute. It must be second shift already if Uhura were off-duty. "Anything to report, lieutenant?"

"No, sir. Everything is quiet. Completely routine."

"Well, that's something to be thankful for, at least," Kirk sighed. "Would you call my yeoman and have her bring me down a turkey sandwich — no, better make it a non-meat something or other. Don't want to offend our guests. Um, make it Calasian cheese and sprouts. And have her bring me a fresh carafe of coffee and something for our visitors. Hot _hiralin_ tea, I think, and something for them to snack on. What's that stuff that Vulcans like so much...? Oh, just have her check the menu selections in the library computer. Looks like we'll be here for an indefinite time."

Kirk had been having food sent down from the _Enterprise_ out of courtesy to the scientific team at the research station. They weren't prepared to have a large group descend on them and "eat them out of house and home", as it were.

"Aye, sir. Yeoman Banks should be there shortly with your order."

"Thanks. Kirk out." Switching to another intercom channel, the captain called Dr. Dean and spoke to her regarding the progress of the databank search. She had been working closely with the other two Vulcan historians who were comparing the research station's timeline of historical events with that from the Vulcan Science Academy.

"So far, so good, Captain," she reported. "It's taking a very long time to trace down events. They've found minor fluctuations, but so far, nothing that shows a long-term effect on history."

"Keep your fingers crossed, Amy. There's a bare possibility that Spock and S'Von are part of established history and were _meant_ to be where they are."

"Knock wood, say a prayer, and rub any lucky charms you might have, Jim! But my hopes aren't very high in that respect."

"Mine, neither. Well, keep me posted. Kirk out."

The captain turned back to the briefing table and resumed his seat before one of the tabletop viewing screens. He studied the frozen image on the screen, then gave another sigh of fatigue. "Grid 14, enhance and magnify," he ordered, peering closely at a blurred face far in the background of a hand-to-hand battle taking place somewhere, sometime in Vulcan history.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Ten months prior..._ **

S'Von found the girl when he opened the door to the storage closet in the ransacked dwelling. She cowered back into the darkness of the corner, shaking with fear, her deep brown eyes huge with terror. Long dark lashes framed those eyes and slim, upswept eyebrows hovered above them like the wings of a frightened bird. Thick black hair spilled over her delicate shoulders and around her perfect face, falling across the lush breasts that heaved against her laced chemise.

He caught his breath and stared at her, mesmerized by the doll-like perfection of the terrified creature before him. She was without a doubt the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, either in this time period or the modern day. For a moment, he reflected that she embodied the native loveliness that modern Vulcan women seemed to have lost, hidden beneath their logic and control and training. She was like an ethereal being of myth, suddenly come to life before him.

He put away his phaser and bent down, holding out his hand to her. "It's all right, my dear. Don't be afraid."

She recoiled back farther, knowing who he was. Tears shimmered in her eyes and she shook her head, too frightened to do anything else.

Gently, he knelt, still offering her his hand. "I won't hurt you. It's all right. You can come out now."

"You killed them," she whispered hoarsely.

"The killing is all done now," he assured her. "Please come out."

She swallowed and studied his face, searching for some sign of promise, of truth. He smiled at her, his unusually light eyes full of friendliness and reassurance. Slowly, hesitantly, she extended her hand and placed it in his.

Pulling her to her feet, he stepped back, moving her out into the open. Standing, she was even more stunningly beautiful. Her body was ripe with womanhood, her breasts full and accentuated by the chemise and bodice she wore. Her slim waist and generous hips made him pulse with sudden desire to have her. For an instant, he imagined what it would be like to possess her, flush with a fire akin to _plak tow_ , and feel her writhe beneath him in ecstasy and submission. Then he pushed the image away.

"What is your name, my dear?" he asked quietly, drinking in her face and form.

"I am called T'Vela, _sai_ ," she answered in a soft voice, still trembling slightly.

"T'Vela ..." he repeated, reaching up to stroke her ebony hair away from her face, tucking it behind the delicately pointed tip of one ear, then running his fingertips down her jade-tinted cheek. "You are so very beautiful, my dear. So beautiful... T'Vela, would you grant a soldier one request? Would you grant a soldier a single kiss?"

She blinked at him, surprised and confused by his request. Without waiting for further answer, he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers. It wasn't an especially passionate kiss, not full of fire or desire, but rather one almost chaste, reverent, as if he were kissing a sacred object with devotion.

As he drew back, his eyes were sad and held her entranced. "I'm sorry, my dear, truly sorry for what I must do," he said softly. "But you are the last of the Holder's children and I simply cannot allow him to leave any heirs to avenge him." And then he drew his dagger and plunged it into her belly, ripping upward.

She only gave a small gasp of utter astonishment and collapsed at his feet. Looking down on where she lay, her hands attempting futilely to hold her entrails inside her gaping abdomen, he added with a note in his voice that was almost regret, " _Now_ the killing here is done."

* * *

In short order, the group of riders found themselves cantering out of the hills and into an area of long rolling meadows. In the distance a weathered fortress crowned a hilltop, with the bulk of Mt. Seleya rising in the background like a brooding god. Spock's eyes widened as they drew closer, for he knew this place. It was Shar'ram, the Yellow City, so called because of the golden sandstone used to build its high walls. It was the ancestral home of his clan, although, in his time, nothing remained but eroded dun blocks to mark the site of the great fortress.

But now, its solid walls and crenelated heights spoke of power and security. Pennons and banners snapped in the wind, among them the crimson flag of the clan, marked by a staring eye. Armed men patrolled along the towers, keeping watch. The castle's many keeps and courtyards sprawled along the hillside so that every angle was covered.

He knew where he was now. From the sheer ramparts of Shar'ram, a gentle valley spread out toward the beginnings of the Sas-a-Shar Desert — Vulcan's Forge. He could see it in the distance from here. Once, in the unimaginable mists of time, a sea had lapped here, slowly drying underneath the unforgiving rays of a blazing red sun. As it shrank and evaporated away, it grew saltier and hotter until at last only a vast, featureless salt plain was left. It still blazed a blinding white underneath the sun and stretched to the horizon.

But here in this wide valley, a sea of yellow grass grew, interspersed with the winding waterways of streams coming down from the Arlanga Mountains to the east, the central peak of which was Seleya. Woodlands followed the streams down to the very edge of Sas-a-Shar, interspersed with large clearings that held homesteadings and farms. Left to themselves, the streams emptied out onto the salt plain and quickly evaporated, but people had long ago changed their courses to prevent the loss of precious water. Now the streams emptied into underground cisterns. Careful preservation and usage assured that those reservoirs never went dry. On the ramparts of Shar'ram, a complicated system of gutters and pipes funneled the rare rainfall into the fortress' holding tanks, one of the reasons the fortress could withstand sieges. The water of Seleya was well preserved and well-guarded.

The mountains themselves were plutonic in origin, mostly igneous flows and basaltic lava beds, thrusting up through the overlying layer of sandstone, the remnant of some long forgotten desert. Mt. Seleya was a vast dormant volcano rearing high above the surroundings, so high that at times there was actually snow on its summit, the premier landmark for a hundred _kh'eet_ in all directions. It was the layers of ash from its eruptions that made this valley fertile and drew people to settle here. Seleya had not erupted in living memory but hot springs and geysers along its flanks testified to the fact that the volcano was only lying in repose and not death.

Spock gazed up at the mountain with something surprisingly like homesickness. He'd lived his first sixteen years in the shadow of the great peak, for in the valley opening before them would one day stand ShiKahr, his birthplace. In his mind's eye, he tried to place the orderly city and its outlying gardens, the buildings and boulevards he knew so well, even the approximate location of his parents' home. But the valley was so different from when he knew it that it was difficult to think of it as the same place.

As the riders neared their destination, they began to come upon scattered farms and fields of grain. Spock had guessed correctly that it was harvest time. People were hard at work with scythes, reaping the golden, red-tipped _tikh_ grain. Following behind the adults, children worked diligently at gathering and stacking the cut grain into sheaves. These would be collected later for the laborious process of threshing and winnowing. It was early morning but they all appeared to have already been at it for quite a while. Logical, he knew, to get as much work done as possible in the cool of the day before the fierce sun forced them in during the afternoon.

In other fields, already cleared, he could see men plowing with teams of _s'box_ , massively-muscled work beasts, dumb and gentle and used for heavy labor. Leaning into their yokes, the draft animals plodded placidly along, turning the dark soil into furrows, waiting the next crop. Still other fields would lie fallow for a season to recover and be replenished with dung, soiled straw from the stables, and other organic material.

There were a surprising number of crops being grown here. Besides _tikh_ , Spock could identify _caseer_ , a tall-growing, large-seeded grain that was almost as much a staple as _tikh._ Another field held the low spreading vines of _t'l'poch_ , legumes that would be mashed into a paste and then formed into cakes. A bit further on was a _s'ruk_ orchard, its bright red fruit being gathered into baskets by another group of men and women.

As they rode closer to the mountain, they finally came into a small village nestled against the base of the hill topped by Shar'ram, the homes of the peasants that worked the land owned by Anskar, the Holder of Seleya. The village consisted of a scattering of small houses that gradually became an area filled with the shops of merchants and tradesmen. Surveying his new surroundings with interest, Spock identified a smithy, a candlemaker, a bakery, an alehouse, and a butcher. The last caused his brows to lift in surprise, but then he remembered that in this time period there were no restrictions against eating meat. Vegetarianism did not become nearly universal until well after Surak's Reforms, still 4,000 years in the future. What surprised him even more was that he did not feel as revolted by the concept as he would have expected. He filed that away for future consideration.

As they passed, people came out of their homes and shops to see the warriors escorting the stranger along the road to the fortress. Strangers were always of interest and soon they had an escort of children running along with them. They were shaggy-haired and dirty, as children often were dirty with play, but on the whole they seemed well cared for and fairly well-fed. Brax cocked an attentive ear and kept a wary eye on the youngsters but did not react otherwise. As he rode quietly along, Spock exchanged curious scrutiny with several of the boys. Some sported small knives stuck in their belts and one even carried a _parakh_ , a throwing stick similar to an ancient Earth boomerang. It was generally used to bring down small prey and, indeed, this boy held the lifeless body of a _shanna_ hare by its back legs, obviously the product of a recent hunt.

At last they came to the first, lowest gate of the castle complex. Stahl and his men were saluted by the guards and the portal opened for them. Once through the thick metal-reinforced wooden doors, the wide, well-kept road ran a short way up a causeway toward the main entry gate of the fortress itself. They entered the main gate and finally found themselves in the wide main courtyard. Spock had noted that all the gates had been of reinforced wood. This was a precious substance in his time and he was surprised to see it so liberally used here. But he had also been surprised at the amount of woodland and grassland that surrounded Seleya. It was mostly desert in the present day.

Their _hoxa_ 's hooves clattered on the cobbles as they rode to the door of the main hall. Stable boys took their mounts there and the warriors shoved the traveler toward the entrance to the hall. It was bordered by stone blocks and closed by thick wooden doors, carved with intricate patterns of gods and ancestor figures.

Inside, morning activities were well underway at several tables around the hall. Craftsmen worked at their arts — leather, tools, weapons — and, near a large window that opened onto the courtyard, the women sat in the light, sewing at clothing for the members of the house. As Spock and the warriors entered, the hall grew quiet as all eyes turned their way.

At the far end of the hall was a great chair where the Householder sat in judgment on various issues and heard petitions from those in vassalage to him. A curtained doorway beside it led to the after chambers where private council was held.

Now, as the group of men walked down the length of the hall, the curtain was pulled back and the Holder of Seleya stepped out. Anskar was a tall, well-built man with shoulder-length gray hair and solemn dark eyes. His weathered, scarred face bespoke many battles and he eyed them with curiosity and reserve. He seated himself in the great chair and waited for the men to reach him. Stahl halted before him and dropped his chin in a respectful bow.

"My lord, on our border patrol we found this stranger camping beside the water in T'Refin. He will say only that he has business with you."

The Holder looked gravely at Spock. "Speak then. What business have you here?"

Spock inclined his head. "I extend greetings to the Holder of this House. I bring no harm or threat to your Household, _sai_. In fact, I am a part of it. I am Spock ... hei-Kh'da'Ni'ikhirch."

There was an immediate murmur around the room and the Holder sat up straighter in heightened attention. "You're _who?_ " he demanded.

" _Sai_ , I am of the House, but of a distant branch." Spock took a gamble. "My great-great-grandmother was of the clan but was married to another House. I have chosen to return to the Family and claim my rightful heritage."

"And your parents' names?"

"My father is Sarek cha'Skon and my mother, Amanda t'cha'David of Earth."

There was some discussion among those in the room as Anskar considered this news. At last the Holder shook his head. "I do not know these names. And Holding Urth is also unknown to me."

" _Sai_ , my mother's House is very far away. She left her homeland to follow my father's people. His land is on the shores of the K'Prel Sea." That wasn't quite a fabrication. Sarek _did_ have a cottage there which they had visited occasionally when Spock was a boy.

Anskar pondered it for a moment longer. "I do not know your parents' names but many daughters have been cross-bonded and lost to our knowledge. For the moment, I will accept that you are who you say. We will speak more of it later and I will hear of your journey here." He stood and lifted his right hand, palm out. "In the meantime, the House greets and welcomes you, cousin."

Spock pressed his palm against Anskar's and answered, "My cousin, Lord Holder, I acknowledge your welcome. I come to serve." As the Holder dropped his hand and stepped back, others stepped forward and exchanged family greeting. Neither Stahl nor any of his surrounding cohorts were among them, however, standing back out of the way and viewing the proceedings with skepticism.

"Lord Anskar, with your permission, I would question this man," came a new voice.

Spock turned to find a young man approaching him. The newcomer had just entered the hall, clad in riding gear and dusty from the road. He was scarcely more than a boy, the thin growth of new-sprouted beard marking his entry into manhood. Yet, he had a sense of strength about him that seemed to mark him as destined for greatness. Now he came to stand before Spock and stare at him with a suspicious, rather puzzled gaze.

"Traveler, how came you by this cloak and sword? And did you, by chance, ride mounted on a gray _hox_? A _hox_ named Brax?"

Spock stared back at the young man in surprise. "Yes," he finally answered. "How did you know?"

"Answer my question, _sai_. How came you by these things?"

Anskar had stepped closer. "Ansaric, what are you implying?"

" _Sai_ , these things were the property of my master, Lord Tumik of Tuldu'un," the young man responded. "He was on his way here as an emissary of Lord Holder Sefak to seek your aid in repelling the D'Khahli forces invading our land. I ask this man again — how did you come by these things?"

Spock raised an eyebrow in comprehension and replied, "I am not a thief or murderer, as I see you suspect. A day ago, I found a man lying dead by the roadside and his _hox_ being attacked by a _le'matya_. I killed the _le'matya_ and buried the man in a cairn by the roadway. I did not find any identification on him to tell me who he was. I was stranded without _hox_ and gear and I was on foot, attempting to make my way here. I did the only logical thing there was to do. I took his clothes and gear and the _hox_."

The young man continued to glare at him in disbelief. "How could you kill a _le'matya_ with your bare hands?"

"I did not say that I killed it with my bare hands," Spock responded. "I used your master's sword." Somewhere inside him, a small logical voice chided him and marveled at his new-found talent for lying. He ignored it, telling himself that spinning a reasonable story was totally logical to surviving in his current situation. And he wasn't strictly lying; exaggeration was more descriptive.

But now the young man's eyes narrowed. "You used my master's sword, eh? Then no doubt the _le'matya's_ blood still stains it. Or perhaps the blood would be that of my good master, Tumik?"

Spock's brows shot up in astonishment at the young man's accusation. "I am no murderer," he stated, beginning to feel a little note of anger and insult swelling deep inside him.

"Then you could undoubtedly lead us to Tumik's grave and we could verify that there are only the marks of the _le'matya_ on him."

"I did not kill him!" Spock repeated firmly, his features settling into a hard, determined expression. The anger that was boiling up inside him jolted him and he tried to take control of himself. "I swear to you ... I found him dead by the roadside."

Ansaric continued to glare at him. "How convenient. You just happened to find him dead and you just happened to be without your _hox_ and gear. _Sai_ , I say to your face and before this company — you are a liar."

" _I did not kill him!_ " Spock snapped, taking a step toward the young man. Immediately, hands grabbed him and held him. The rage in him seemed to blaze ever higher and, while he realized what was happening inside him, he felt powerless to stop it.

Lord Anskar moved between the two and peered coolly at Spock. "Cousin, you are acting very much like a man with something to hide."

Spock gulped and calmed himself. " _Sai_ , I swear to you by the spirits of my fathers, I did _not_ kill this man. I found him dead and claimed his possessions by lawful declaration."

"By what witnesses?" Ansaric demanded.

He didn't have an answer for that. "By no witnesses," he admitted finally.

"Then your claim is not valid," the young man stated. "And, by right of having served as Tumik's _shi'ka'ree_ , and as his sister's son, I claim his possessions, particularly the sword you wear."

The primitive, savage voice inside Spock roared in outrage at the idea of losing the sword. "No! It is mine and I will not surrender it!"

"I am Tumik's _shi'ka'ree_ — his squire and line-heir should he die without issue! He has done so — the sword is mine by right!"

"I claimed this sword by declaration of _na'Tha'thhya!_ I did the burial rites and said the prayers over him!" What Spock was feeling was totally illogical, but he had an almost frenzied need to possess the sword. He couldn't explain it. He simply knew that the weapon must remain in his keeping at all costs, and that he was willing to kill to achieve that goal.

Ansaric was just as adamant, however. "I want that sword!" he declared in fury. "Give it to me!" He made a lunge for the sword hilt.

Immediately, Spock backhanded him away and made to draw the weapon from its sheath, seething with fury. "By Heya, I'll give it to you — _through your heart!_ "

Anskar angrily grabbed Spock's wrist before he could follow through on his threat. " _Kroykah!_ I see but one way to settle this dispute. So, Spock, you swear by Heya. Very well, Heya shall decide this quarrel. Come, all. We will go to the Ring Stones and there the Goddess will pass judgment."


	7. Chapter 7

**_Nine months prior..._ **

With a thundering explosion, the walls of the Telapul Holding gave way before the hellish assault of the phaser rifle's beam. Sappers had worked for four days undermining the stronghold wall and then S'Von had delivered the _coup de grace_ , causing the weakened stones to collapse.

As the dust cleared, the army of D'Khahl rose from its trenches and charged the breach in the wall, giving vent to a screeching war cry that raised the hackles of those in the holding who prepared to meet them. Mounted _hox_ men and foot soldiers both stormed through the gaping hole in the fortress walls, fighting furiously hand to hand with its defenders. _Hoxa_ screamed as they were cut down by bolts and pikes. No less furious were the anguished screams of men and the clang of metal against metal as sword met sword and shield.

After a half hour of carnage, the city's pennon was draped over the upper wall, a knot of surrender tied into its length. Seeing it, Stefin grinned ferally and shouted hoarsely for his men to cease hostilities. Troop leaders echoed his orders up through the ranks and gradually the fighting stopped, the D'Khahli soldiers ready at a word to resume their slaughter.

Stefin reined his big dun-colored _hox_ in and peered up at the walls where a bedraggled man had appeared, holding his hands out where Stefin could see them. "Supak!" the D'Khahli shouted up to him. "Do you yield or do I set my men back to their work?!"

"What are your terms?!" the man on the wall yelled back, looking ready to weep.

" _Terms?!_ " Stefin responded in scorn. "My terms are that you surrender your city and step down from your Holding! The alternative is that we systematically kill every man, woman and child while you watch — and then we stake you alive and let the _hycals_ have you!" There was appalled silence from Supak and Stefin raised his gory sword in the man's direction, frowning. "You test my patience, old man! My warriors have blood in their mouths now! They hunger to taste more! Yield or I will set them free!"

"What else can I do?" Supak responded in defeat. "We cannot match your power or that of your sorcerer. Telapul is yours, Stefin." He hung his head in resignation.

Stefin lowered his sword in acceptance and his warriors let loose a howl of victory. It echoed through the streets and courts of Telapul and bounced off the high stone walls. When it died down, Stefin again addressed the man on the wall. "Supak! I will meet with you in your council chamber. Bring your ministers and war leaders. We will draw up the terms of your surrender and settle this business."

"I will meet you there," the man agreed and turned away, disappearing from sight.

Brimming with savage elation, the D'Khahli leader motioned for his captains and for S'Von to follow him. As they rode into the smoking ruin of the city, their _hoxa_ snorted as the stench of blood and burning flesh filled their nostrils. The men had to keep a tight rein on their mounts as they rode to the central hall of Telapul Holding.

Dismounting, they strode boldly into the hall, alert for trouble, but finding only defeated people who backed away from them in fear. Supak and his ministers were waiting for them in the council chamber and the two Holders seated themselves across the table from one another. Deliberately, Stefin drew off his mail gauntlets and slapped them down on the tabletop, enjoying the way Supak flinched.

"Now, let us discuss a settlement of this business," Stefin began. Leaning back in his chair, he stated flatly, "I am prepared to spare your life on the condition that you swear fealty to me and hold this place in sacred trust to me. In addition, you will pay me an annual percentage of the taxes and earnings on this Holding, to be set at my discretion and delivered to me in full at the turning of the year. To show your good faith in this, you will deliver up a tenth of the wealth of your city now, which I claim as my own. Further, your army will swear allegiance to me and fight in my service as I require." He stopped and fixed Supak with a cold, purposeful stare. "And one other thing. To seal this agreement between us and to insure against treachery on your part, you will hand over your daughter, T'Kaela, to me in marriage."

Supak was growing darker and darker in the face and now he burst out, "No! I won't agree to that!"

"All or nothing, old man," Stefin warned him. "For, if you do not agree to these conditions, I will give the order to my men to sack and burn this Holding. You know I will do it and I will take what I want in the end. Is your daughter such a great price to pay for the safety and security of your Holding and your people?"

"How can you ask that of me?!" the older man spluttered. "My own child—"

"All or nothing!" Stefin growled out in growing anger.

Supak fumed and glared at the invaders, then finally said, "Let me confer with my ministers."

Stefin waved a magnanimous hand at him. "As you wish. You have ten minutes. I do not think you will disappoint me." His dark eyes hard as obsidian, he grinned in a way that said plainly he almost _hoped_ Supak would defy him and allow the massacre to begin. The blood-lust in Stefin's face sent a chill of terror down Supak's spine and he hurriedly gathered his ministers together and drew them aside. He already knew what his answer to the invader must be.

* * *

The Ring Stones of Mount Seleya were sacred to the ancestor spirits of Ni'ikhirch and were presided over by the ruling Goddess of the clan. They stood on a natural courtyard at the base of the mountain whose name had been in the old tongue Seyl‑Heya — the Throne of Heya. The word _heya_ was an ancient one and meant "mountain". In distant times past, people had worshiped the peak itself, particularly when the volcano was active and periodically spewed its wrath across the countryside. It was believed that the goddess, whose name became synonymous with the mountain itself, dwelt within its molten throat and, to appease her, sacrifices had been regularly made — first wines and fruits of harvest, then unblemished _paran_ lambs and _s'boxa_ calves, and finally, when the volcano was especially active, virgin boys and girls. Gradually, over the course of time, the mountain's fiery rumblings had died away and it had subsided into quiescent slumber.

At some point in its history, a temple to the Goddess had been built at the base of the mountain and, over time, the small natural amphitheater had seen the rise of a ring of giant standing stones, overtopped with lintel pieces weighing many tons. It was still a mystery how the ancient people had erected such a monumental edifice but it remained standing in Spock's day. Since time immemorial, this place had been the site of judgment and ritual, of marriage and death. Its sands had absorbed countless gallons of blood and witnessed the bonding and breaking of clan ties and bloodlines.

It was to this place that the court of Anskar now gathered to watch the settling of the dispute between Spock hei-Kh'da'Ni'ikhirch and Ansaric hei-Kh'da'Tuldu'un over the issue of the death of Lord Tumik and the right of his possessions. Heya would weigh their claims and choose, making her decision known by allowing one of them to live.

As the onlookers spread themselves around the circle, discussing and betting on the outcome, Anskar settled himself upon his seat of judgment and his ministers and war leaders gathered to either side of him. Ansaric moved to one side of the arena and proceeded to strip down to the waist, handing his clothing and weapons over to those who favored his cause and stood as his seconds.

Spock went to the other side, wondering what he'd gotten himself into. As he reluctantly began to ready himself, an older man stepped up to him. He was gray-haired and gray-bearded, heavy set and well past his middle years.   "I am Suvakh," he said. "I am uncle to the Holder Anskar. I will stand for you, nephew."

"I thank you, uncle," Spock acknowledged, grateful that he had at least one ally here. He removed his cloak and then carefully concealed and wrapped his phaser in it, handing it into the older man's care. He unbuckled the sword and dagger belts, turning these over, and then peeled off his tunic and shirt. Clad now only in pants and boots, Spock took a moment to close his eyes and draw a long, deep breath, calming and focusing himself. He _must_ control the simmering anger that was threatening to consume him. He banked it down with determination, then he and Ansaric turned to the Holder.

"Daggers," stated Anskar with finality.

At once, those acting as seconds to the two combatants slid the blades from their scabbards and handed them over, hilt first, and the two men crouched into a stance of readiness, each sizing the other up. Ansaric was young, strong and quick, but Spock judged him inexperienced because of his youth. At least he hoped he was. And, while Ansaric had the advantage of pressing his suit for revenge and gain, Spock's strength lay in fighting for his life and in having years of hand-to-hand combat experience via his Starfleet service.

His brief reverie was ended abruptly as Ansaric lunged at him, barely missing inflicting a deep gash across Spock's upper chest. Spock jerked back just in time, and Ansaric followed, slashing at him again and again. The third time, Spock parried, locking his dagger's guard against Ansaric's, blocking him. For a few frantic seconds, they grappled together, then they broke and moved back apart, circling to find another opening.

"I have no wish to harm you," Spock informed the young man, all the while maintaining his guard.

"Then you are at a disadvantage," Ansaric retorted through clenched teeth. "Because I intend to kill you." And he lunged again.

Spock met his rush and they locked blades again, each testing the other's strength. They broke and came back together almost immediately. Ansaric attempted to knock his opponent off his balance and both men went down in the sand, clasped in a contest of blades and gripped wrists, rolling as each tried to gain the advantage. After a moment of stalemate, Ansaric kicked Spock hard in the shin, the pain causing him to break his grip for a second. Ansaric scrambled away and leapt to his feet, moving away to catch his breath. Spock quickly did the same.

For a long moment, the two combatants stood apart, breathing hard and planning their strategy for the next assault. Then Ansaric attacked again.

Spock side-stepped him and hooked his ankle, tripping him. Ansaric went down, rolled and was immediately up on his feet and crouched, ready. He got a mental nod from Spock. The boy was better than he'd estimated. He would have to end this quickly.

Spock made a move as if to stab at his opponent, then feinted as Ansaric darted to counter it. Before Ansaric could realize his mistake, Spock ducked under the young man's swing and came up close behind him, simultaneously switching his dagger from his right hand to his left.

Ansaric whirled to face his adversary, but froze in shocked paralysis as Spock's right hand clamped expertly on the base of his neck. The young man's dagger fell from his suddenly lifeless hand as his knees buckled and he collapsed to the sand at Spock's feet.

Spock straightened and was suddenly aware of the quiet of the spectators. To a person, they were staring at him in astonished silence and he turned to see Anskar on his feet, his face holding the same expression.

He looked around, confused, then turned back to face Anskar, who had stepped out onto the sands and was slowly approaching him. As the Holder reached him, he spoke in awe. "How is this possible? You merely touched him and he died."

Spock's eyebrows went up in surprise and he glanced down at the limp figure. "He is _not_ dead, _sai_. He will regain consciousness in a moment. Do you mean that you do not know _totsu'k'hy_? The nerve pinch?"

The Holder peered at him blankly. "Is this some strange magic from your land?"

"No, _sai_ , not magic. But it _is_ a form of combat among my people," Spock explained. "It is a way to incapacitate an opponent without truly harming him."

Ansaric was beginning to stir and Spock quickly bent to help him to his feet. The youth was confused and some of his friends moved to his side to help steady him, still keeping a wary eye on Spock. "Are you all right?" Spock asked him. "Are you injured?"

Ansaric seemed surprised to be alive and didn't speak for a moment as he checked himself for stab wounds, then he stared at Spock, baffled, rubbing the sore spot at the base of his neck. "What wizardry is this?" he finally asked. "What did you do to me?"

"It is not wizardry. Just a way of knocking out a person."

As the crowd began to overcome their amazement, all began to talk quietly among themselves at this wonder. But the warrior Stahl stepped forward to stand beside Anskar. "Master, combat is not done," he spoke up. "Our tradition says that only one may leave the judgment circle alive. Heya must judge who has the right claim."

Anskar turned a critical glare on him. "Has not Heya judged this already? Spock has proven himself the victor here. He has prevailed."

Stahl glanced at Spock with an expression that conveyed a dangerous disposition and ill will. "It is our tradition. If he is indeed the victor, then Ansaric must die."

There was a good deal of muttering among the spectators, some in agreement, some not, but they quieted as Anskar faced the men and weighed what his judgment would be. "It _is_ tradition," he admitted finally.

A look of fear began to creep over the young Tuldu'uni's face, realizing that his life was forfeit now. He glanced at Spock but could read no emotion in the other Vulcan's features. Spock was staring steadfastly at Anskar, his face grim.

Anskar spoke again. "Spock, I declare you victor of this dispute. You have proved by combat that your word is true and that your claim to Tumik's possessions is valid. Further, it is your right to slay your defeated opponent, by our laws and traditions. Ansaric's life is yours."

Steeling himself, Ansaric tightened his jaw in preparation for death and sank down to his knees before Spock, bowing his head, ready to feel the cold bite of the knife in Spock's hand as it severed his spinal cord.

But what he felt instead was Spock's hand resting on his hair. "I return Ansaric's life to him. I have no quarrel with him and will not slay him. This is not the way of my people."

"If you are Ni'ikhirchi, it _is_ the way of your people," growled Stahl, his eyes cold.

Spock turned to stare levelly back at him, matching the animosity he felt emanating from the warrior. "Are _you_ Ni'ikhirchi, _Sai_ Stahl?" he questioned in a low, dangerous voice. "I do not recall naming you 'cousin'."

The warrior bristled. "I am Stahl hei-Kh'd'Elakil. And I have more right here than you, stranger," he spat back. "I have served the Holders since childhood!"

" _Served_ ," Spock repeated contemptuously.

With an oath, Stahl moved toward him, his hand going to his own dagger hanging at his side. His blood still high from the combat, Spock shoved Ansaric, still kneeling, out of the away and stepped forward to meet him.

" _Kroykah!_ "

The ancient command had the power to stop both men in their tracks and Anskar turned to push Stahl back. "This isn't your quarrel," the Holder snapped. "I have decided the outcome of this combat! It is Spock's right to spare Ansaric if he chooses and you have no stake in this matter! It is closed!"

Stahl glared at Spock for a long moment, then whirled and marched out of the arena. The other people gathered there, who had stood silent and spellbound by the exchange, began to wander back to the main hall and their usual pursuits.

Spock turned to offer Ansaric a hand up and the young man bowed to him. " _Sai_ , I thank you for my life. I will call _you_ 'master' now and serve you as _shi'ka'ree_. I see now that you have the blessing of Heya to bear the sword and I was wrong to contest you." He looked down at the sand. "I deeply regret my actions, _sai_. I apologize to you. But you shocked me deeply when I saw you wearing my master's clothing." He turned to the Holder. "Lord Anskar, I regret any trouble I have caused you this day."

"Understandable, Ansaric."

"Indeed," Spock seconded. "I grieve for thy loss. Tumik must have been a good man."

"Yes, he was. A great warrior and a fair master," Ansaric answered, looking down. "I will miss him. As a kinsman, too, for I had known him since childhood." His expression was introspective for a few seconds, then he looked back up at Anskar. "Lord, I regret, too, that I allowed this to escalate so that it made me forget the reason I am here. Forgive me my foolishness and inattention to duty. _Sai_ , I bring you a message from Lord Sefak."

"When you are dressed, meet with me in my council chamber," the Holder answered. "Then I would hear my fair cousin's words." He strode away across the sands.

Ansaric's friends approached bearing his clothing and weapons and he turned to get dressed. Suvakh came to Spock and held out the bundle he carried. As Spock pulled his shirt on over his head and re-laced it, the older man commented, "I would like to learn this combat touch you have shown us."

"I will teach it to you," Spock answered, pulling on the overtunic, then buckling on the sword and dagger belt and slipping the blade back into its sheath.

As Spock dressed, Suvakh commented, "An eventful morning, nephew. And you have traveled a long way. Tell me — how come you here?"

"I remembered stories of the House from when I was a boy. I determined to set out on a quest to find the Family. And also to see places I had never been."

Suvakh nodded sagely. "A young man's quest, indeed. The curiosity of youth is admirable."

"And, more importantly, I am on a mission to locate a man from my homeland who may have passed this way. I must speak with Anskar when he is free. Perhaps this evening."

"After last meal is usually a good time to see him. I will speak with him and arrange a time for you."

"Thank you, uncle." Spock took the bundle of his cloak back from Suvakh, careful not to drop the phaser concealed therein. "Your hospitality to me is most kind. I must tell you that, from the time I was a boy, I have longed to see Shar'ram in all its glory." That was not a lie. He had spent hours staring out his bedroom window at the ruins on the far away mountain and wondering what it must have been like in its heyday. And now he was here. "It is as magnificent as I'd imagined. But I never dreamed that it was so beautiful, too."

Settling the sword belt into place, he looked up and immediately halted himself in mid‑action. Across the arena, leaning demurely against one of the massive stone pillars of the Ring, almost hiding behind it, was a creature so beautiful that he nearly caught his breath in amazement. The woman was watching him with soulful dark eyes that captured and held him in their direct, provocative gaze. She smiled slowly and sensuously when she realized that he had seen her and he felt as dazed as if struck by a blow. She was young, perhaps in her teens, with a sweet face that nevertheless held a sadness not often seen on one of such tender age. Long black hair drifted around her like a cloud and fell over soft, creamy shoulders and arms.

He gave her a courtly nod of recognition, causing her to blush, then she disappeared among the stone pylons and was gone. Suvakh had seen where his gaze was directed. "Careful, nephew, she is betrothed."

"Who is she?"

"Her name is T'Preve," the man said. "The only child of Lord V'Rulk, Anskar's younger brother, killed in battle. She is the promised bride of _Sai_ Stahl. Their bonding is planned for planting festival in the spring."

For some reason that disquieted Spock. Stahl had struck him as solely a warrior, rough and ruthless, more at home in battle than anywhere else. He found it difficult to picture the older man bonded with the young woman. And then he wondered why he cared. It was extremely uncharacteristic of him to meddle into the marital affairs of others, particularly those who were total strangers to him. But, still, he could not shake the feeling that something was wrong here, nor would the attraction he had immediately felt for the woman leave him. He stole a quick glance in the direction she had gone but she had vanished with the others in the direction of the main hall.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Eight months prior..._ **

S'Von paced restlessly before the great council chair in which Stefin lounged indolently. "A month," the scientist muttered angrily. "An entire month lost while you indulge yourself in wine and the pleasures of your new wife. The troops grow restless for battle and soften as they spend their time with women and gambling. How much longer do you intend to wait?"

Stefin waved a limp hand at him in dismissal. "We are fine. The troops were tired and so was I. A short rest won't hurt us. They've earned their time of enjoyment with those women. They worked hard enough to steal them. We'll go back into the campaign renewed. Don't worry." He took a long drink from the golden goblet he held, booty from a looted holding.

"And, while we're on the subject..." S'Von halted and pinned him with narrowed eyes. "It seems that everyone in this venture takes such pleasure except me. Am I not worthy of such a prize as well?"

Stefin peered back at him cynically and raised one eyebrow. "Take any woman that strikes your fancy. I have no interest where you spend your nights."

Again S'Von pierced him with his strangely light eyes. " _Any_ woman?"

The Holder's face hardened and he sat up straight in his chair. "You know I meant any one but her."

"Perhaps I _should_ take her," S'Von murmured viciously. "I would get better children on her than you."

Furious, Stefin lunged to his feet, the golden goblet clattering to the floor, spilling wine across the stones. He started toward his sorcerer. "You treacherous bastard... I'll hang your flayed hide from a pennon pole if I find you have so much as approached her."

S'Von was not impressed. "Remember whom you are threatening, Stefin," he hissed between clenched teeth. "I can do to D'Khahl what I have done to so many other holdings."

The Holder towered above the shorter man in barely contained fury and his dagger was under S'Von's chin instantly. "Not before I can cut your throat, wizard. Your power lies in your devices, not in your heart. Perhaps I will slice that out and mince it for stew. Then we shall see how powerful you are."

"That would be an extraordinarily foolish thing to attempt," S'Von muttered and Stefin felt a gouge in his ribs. He glanced down to find his sorcerer holding a hand phaser firmly against his side. "I will vaporize you before I die of blood loss. All it would take is a jerk of my finger. A death jerk, perhaps. Just a twitch and you're dead with me."

Stefin forced himself to rein in his anger and back off, stepping away from the other man. "Very well, have it your way." He slid his dagger back into its sheath at his hip. "Call the captains together and we will begin planning the next phase of the campaign after mid-meal. But remember..." His dark eyes were merciless. "I meant what I said about T'Kaela. I don't care how many other women you bed, but I won't tolerate advances toward my wife." He turned and stalked away.

S'Von watched him go and slowly put away the phaser. Still seething, he thought of the Telapul bride who had been the price of peace with the D'Khahli holder. She had fought her marriage to her city's conqueror. Rumor had it that Stefin had to physically subdue her each night when he bedded her. It was like taking a _le'matya_ to wife and word had gone round among the courtiers that Stefin had never been so happy or satisfied in his life.

For the first time S'Von pictured himself in Stefin's place, and the idea of taking the wild T'Kaela caused a shiver of anticipation to go over him. He decided that he wouldn't mind in the least if she fought him and he were forced to restrain her. Indeed, the thought of her bound and helpless beneath him sent a pulse of charged excitement through him. He began to plot a way to take her away from the foolish man who owned both her and her father's lands.

* * *

As the excitement from the combat died away, the inhabitants of Shar'ram scattered to their various pursuits. Suvakh called the fortress steward to him. "Has _Sai_ Spock's _hox_ been attended to?"

"Yes, Lord," the man answered. "He has been stabled and fed and the _sai_ 's belongings stowed there."

"Very good. Spock, if you will go with Stenin, he will find you a sleeping place and then show you where you may find things and places here at Shar'ram."

"Thank you, uncle," Spock replied with a nod of appreciation.

"I would go with you, master, but first I must speak with Lord Anskar," spoke up Ansaric, now re-dressed. "It is my duty as _shi'ka'ree_ to attend you."

"Take care of your business with our Lord Holder," Spock told him. "I must see to Brax and make sure that he is well. I will see you this afternoon."

Ansaric looked torn between his duties for a moment, then nodded. "As you wish, master." He turned and left the stone circle.

Spock went with Stenin, the fortress steward, to find a place where Spock could sleep that night. It turned out to be a curtained alcove off the main hall. Spock was afforded this privacy as a guest, though many others simply spread their bedrolls near the fireplace in the great room. The further away from the hearth, the colder the spot. So Spock traded warmth for privacy and a straw‑filled mattress in the corner of the room on which to spread his blanket.

With his sleeping accommodations identified, Spock found his way to the stables to see that Brax was being cared for properly. The Holding stable was a long, cave-like area at the rear of the great hall, a center aisle running all the way through it and opening into the back baileys of the fortress complex. Along either side of this aisle were adjoining stalls and a great number of _hoxa_ stood or lay in them, sleeping, eating or rechewing their regurgitated cud, eyes half-closed as they dozed. Several grooms were brushing down the coats of animals tethered along the dividing aisle. Other grooms were seated on benches, repairing and oiling harness and tack. Despite the great number of animals kept there, the stable smelled clean and well-kept.

Brax had been provided with a thick bedding of straw and had been fed a meal of _tikh_ grain and strawgrass. Again, Spock found his knowledge of _hoxa_ to be extraordinarily full, although he had no idea how he had gained this information. He only knew that he should procure a coat brush from one of the grooms and give Brax a thorough going-over. The _hox_ stood contentedly as his master ran the soft brush over broad sweeps of muscle and down strong legs. The animal lifted his feet obligingly as Spock brushed out the thick coat of hair feathering around the tridactyl hooves. Once done there, the Vulcan gently went over the _hox_ 's face, taking extra care around his eyes and the short, thick horns that sprouted in front of his ears, then he went to work on getting the tangles out of Brax's mane and tail, leaving them flowing and shining like silver.

The grooming took a couple of hours and Brax purred appreciatively throughout. He nuzzled Spock and radiated waves of happiness. Spock knew that _hoxa_ bonded with their masters and enjoyed an empathic relationship with them, but he'd never realized how strong that empathy would be. Brax almost seemed to speak to him at times, although there were never words, just emotions that swept over him that expressed the _hox_ 's feelings about things.

Once he had finished seeing to his _hox_ 's needs, Spock returned the brush to its owner and went back to Brax's stall to retrieve his saddlebags and gear, which were stowed with Brax's tack. He didn't inquire if they'd been opened. It would have been an unthinkable breach of conduct to do so, and he hefted them across one shoulder to carry back to the sleeping place he'd been assigned.

It was late afternoon now, the rest period when the pace in the Holding slowed until the worst of the day's heat had passed. The day had left Spock fatigued and he was looking forward to finding something to eat for mid-meal and to meditating for a while on all that had happened since his arrival at Shar'ram that morning. Then he would decide what course he needed to take in beginning his search for S'Von.

As Spock crossed the courtyard, he was suddenly stopped by familiar music. It wasn't that the song was familiar, although there was the hint of an old folk melody to it, but that it had the unmistakable sound of being played on a _ka'athyra_ , a Vulcan lyre. He followed the sound and was lured by the music into a side garden, lined with flowers and trees, a small fountain dancing in the midst of a tranquil little pool.

Seated on a stone bench beside the fountain was the girl he'd seen earlier and she was softly plucking at the stringed instrument cradled in her lap. Enchanted, he watched her for a moment as her fingers moved over the strings. The lyre wasn't quite like his. The instrument he played was a modern version, after all, with electronic enhancers and amplifiers and unbreakable strings made of manufactured polymers. This was the lyre in its purest form — hand-carved wood and carefully stretched and twisted tendon fibers comprising the strings.

She seemed to be having trouble with one particular section of the song. Each time she played it, the sequence ended off-key. At last, he asked softly, "May I?"

With a surprised gasp, she leaped to her feet and stared at him. "My lord — I didn't see you! You startled me!"

"I'm sorry," he said gently. "I didn't mean to."

For a long moment, they studied each other, unable to tear their eyes away. She was a little older than he'd originally thought, about nineteen or twenty, and her eyes were the color of deep, rich mahogany, framed by long dark lashes. Delicate upswept brows accented those eyes perfectly and her skin was flawless, its porcelain-like purity tinged with the faint glow of jade, now prominent on her cheeks. Falling nearly to her waist, her deep black hair floated free around her, held back from her face by a jeweled hairclip. Full lips parted slightly, she finally answered, "It's all right. I just wasn't expecting anyone."

"I heard you playing," he replied. "May I try...?" He gestured at the lyre she still held hugged to her.

"Oh, of course." She held it out to him.

Spock set down the heavy saddlebags and took the _ka'athyra_ from her, seating himself on the bench and settling the instrument into position. It was smaller than his lyre and he took a moment to experimentally touch the strings, getting the feel of it. Then he closed his eyes and concentrated on her song. Years of experience came to his bidding and he recreated the melody she had played. When he reached the place where she had faltered, he improvised his way through it, then continued, calling upon the old folk theme to finish.

When he finally raised his head and looked at her, she was staring at him in awe. A bit embarrassed, he smiled and offered the lyre back to her. "I _think_ that's what you were working toward, anyway," he said.

She hugged the _ka'athyra_ to her once more. " _Sai_ , that was beautiful... How did you learn to play that way?"

"It is nothing. I played often in my homeland," he responded, dismissing the subject, and rose to his feet again. "My name is Spock."

"I know. I was in the hall when you arrived. I heard you speaking with Lord Anskar. I am T'Preve."

"Yes, Lord Suvakh told me."

She carefully laid the _ka'athyra_ down on the stone bench and moved back towards the fountain. "We don't get many strangers here. I hope you'll tell us your story tonight after last‑meal. I'm sure you have some interesting tales to tell."

"Not really," Spock shrugged, following her to stand beside the flowering shrubs around the pond. Water dancers darted about on the pool surface, wary of the tiny bronze-colored fish that lurked below. "Travel is really very dull unless you enjoy hearing about how many _kh'eet_ it is from one water hole to the next." He changed the subject. "The garden is lovely. Did you grow the flowers here?"

"Oh, no, m'lord. But I _do_ enjoy coming here during afternoon rest. I've been trying to learn to play the _ka'athyra_ and this is a good place to practice."

"Perhaps I can help you with that sometime," he responded.

"Would you?" Her face brightened. "Yes, I would enjoy that. I think you could teach me things I've never imagined." Abruptly she blushed. "That didn't come out quite right."

"Not at all. Your statement was quite appropriate." He reached down and picked a flower bud from a bush growing beside the water, its blossoms just beginning to burst into red flame. "This is an interesting species. It's called 'wedding flower', is it not? I don't believe I've ever seen it bloom in this particular color." On impulse, he reached out and offered it to her, but she shied away.

"What's wrong? Do I frighten you?" he asked.

"No. You don't, m'lord ... it's just that ..." She looked down in embarrassment then back up at him, smiling shyly. "I really shouldn't be alone here with you. I am pledged."

He gazed at her in appraisal and his brows lifted quizzically. "But I am a cousin," he insisted softly. "Surely it is not wrong to be with family members."

She looked away again, amused and aware that he was teasing her. "I'm not sure my father would agree with you. He would say that such a distant cousin ... and such a handsome one ... would not qualify for that distinction."

"Your father was undoubtedly a wise man," Spock answered, his voice dropping to nearly a whisper.

T'Preve looked up at him, gauging his expression to see if she had truly understood the suggestion that she had heard in his voice. He was standing before her with his hands behind his back, still holding the flower bud lightly between his fingers. She took the opportunity to study him more closely — tall and slender, perhaps in his mid-30's, a man mature and experienced, but still young. His angular face was marked by lines that somehow told her he was familiar with battle and the burdens of commanding men, although at the moment the dark brown eyes underneath his sweeping brows sparkled with mischief and humor. A little smile played upon his lips as he raised one eyebrow questioningly.

"I think _you_ are the wise one ... cousin," she answered in the same soft tone with just a hint of promise in it.

He smiled at that and held out the flower to her again. "Then there is no harm in accepting this, is there?"

This time she took it, though she watched him coyly, intrigued by him but keeping her distance. "From one cousin to another," she answered.

He bowed his head in a courtly manner and responded, "Cousin." Still smiling, he retrieved his gear and left the garden, glancing back at her before he went through the gate. She brought the flower up to inhale its fragrance, her eyes lingering on the direction he had gone.


	9. Chapter 9

**_Eight months prior..._ **

S'Von waited until Stefin was out of the holding, drilling his warriors for the next phase of the campaign. He had feigned nausea from too much drink the evening before as an excuse for not accompanying them and then, when they were well away, he rose from his bed and made his way to the Holder's chambers on the upper level.

His knock was answered by a serving woman who opened the door a crack and looked shocked to see the sorcerer, then she dipped her head in deference to him. "My lord," she murmured.

He shoved the door and her aside in one motion and stepped into the large room. "Leave us, woman," he ordered imperiously. "I would have words with your mistress."

Fearfully, the serving woman glanced for permission at the young woman seated by the window, then quickly exited at her nod. S'Von shut the door with a firm movement and faced T'Kaela.

"What do you want?" she demanded, her voice quivering, but still holding a regal note. She was in her 20's and not classically pretty, although she was attractive. She had been resolutely working on a tapestry stretched on a frame, more to keep herself busy than displaying much creative talent or energy. She looked as if she'd been crying recently, for her eyes were puffy, and across her left cheek was a bruise that looked suspiciously like a handprint. Nevertheless, she faced him with pride and strength.

He bowed to her. "My Lady T'Kaela, I regret that I have not paid you a call recently to congratulate you on your marriage."

Her eyes hardened and narrowed, but she refused to answer, knowing he was baiting her. He continued, "I hope your transition to your new home has been a smooth one?"

"You know it has not," she whispered hoarsely. "I have come here as a captive of war, something that _you_ helped engineer. Why do you taunt me?"

"My lady, I do not come here to taunt or to malign you. Let us speak frankly, for I sense that subterfuge is something for which you have little patience. Your husband beats you, does he not?"

She blinked in startled reaction and he could see that tears threatened to spill over her lashes once again. "Why do you ask me this?" she murmured.

"Lady, when I proposed to Stefin that he take you to wife, I had no idea that he would treat you so cruelly," S'Von purred sincerely, taking a step closer to her. "I deeply regret that my actions have caused you pain. My only thought was that your union would be a balm to the hostilities between your father and Lord Stefin."

Her jaw tightened as she sought to control herself and she stared at him skeptically. "You lie smoothly, Lord S'Von."

He looked wounded. "Lady! I assure you I do not lie! That you have been injured has cut me to the heart!" He sank down on the edge of a bench across from her and spoke in an intimate, caring voice. "May I advise you regarding your relationship with Stefin? And I apologize for my bluntness here, but I feel that I must tell you this. When he comes to you at night, don't fight him. I know his advances are unpleasant for you, but he enjoys subduing you almost more than what follows. Be docile. After a time, I believe that he will turn his attentions elsewhere and you will not be bothered by him again."

She was sitting back in her chair, regarding him in silent disbelief. When she did not respond after a minute or so, S'Von urged her, "Think on it, lady, won't you? And, please, think of me as a friend here." He reached over and took her hand, bending over it to press a quick, soft kiss against her fingers.

Then he rose and was quickly gone, leaving her confused and uncomfortable.

* * *

_"Sai_ Spock, I would speak with you." Ansaric, the young man from Tuldu'un, came striding across the great hall as Spock entered from the courtyard. He was now clad in a muted green tunic and tan leggings, his feet shod in the same sort of tall laced boots that were common here.

Spock paused, shifting the saddlebags he carried across one shoulder. He still felt uneasy about their earlier encounter and wondered if Ansaric intended to question him further. But he made himself answer noncommittally, "Walk with me then. These saddlebags are heavy and I want to stow them by my bed."

Ansaric was agreeable to that and followed the older man to his sleeping alcove. When he had dropped the bags onto the straw mat that was his bed, Spock turned to the young man. "What is it, Ansaric?"

Ansaric looked uncomfortable then brought his eyes back up to meet Spock's. " _Sai_ , there is something I must ask you. You said that you used the sword to kill the _le'matya_. You must have surely noticed that this is no ordinary weapon."

Spock was cautious in his answer. "Yes ... it does have some ... unusual properties."

"But they mean nothing special to you ..."

"No. Should they?"

Ansaric shifted again. " _Sai_ , will you come with me and speak with Lord Suvakh? You wear this sword now and you must know what that wearing means. It could be the most important information you ever receive."

Spock raised an eyebrow in surprise, then nodded. "As you wish. Lead the way."

* * *

His back against the wall, one foot propped up on the bench on which he sat, Spock did not look at Suvakh, although he was listening intently, his brow furrowed. They were in Suvakh's chambers, on the level above the main hall. Compared to ordinary lodgings, this room offered considerable comfort, a real bed and chairs, a solid table and a chest along one wall. From his seat, Spock could see out through the open window into the courtyard below. The afternoon activities were picking up a little as the sun sank and the worst of the afternoon heat seeped away.

Suvakh had offered his two guests bread, cheese and _tikh_ -beer and Spock was surprised to realize how hungry he was. Coming on the heels of his long, inadvertent fast during his journey here and then following a day in which he'd had only traveler's bread and some fruit, the simple repast tasted like a feast to him. Ansaric downed his own portion of bread and beer with alacrity, for he too had come a long way and hadn't eaten since a quick mouthful on _hox_ back that morning.

As they ate, Suvakh questioned Ansaric for news. "How go things in Tuldu'un now? What do you hear of the war?"

Ansaric dipped a chunk of bread into a platter of spiced oil and popped the crust into his mouth. "Not well, uncle. The north has fallen to the D'Khali and I fear that Tuldu'un will be next. That was the message I brought Lord Anskar. My Lord Sefak is calling men in from all quarters to form a united front against them. Otherwise we won't be able to withstand them."

Spock glanced over at him, caught by the name "D'Khali". He knew that it was a province in the northern temperate regions, but for some reason the name meant more than that to him. If only he could remember _why_ it did.

Suvakh leaned back into his large chair, lacing his hands over his ample stomach. "Bad news indeed, nephew. What says Anskar?"

"He's meeting with his captains now. I expect to be sent back to Sefak soon."

They finished their meal and kitchen girls came to clear away the dishes. Then the men settled back, Spock sitting beside the window and Suvakh ensconced in the cushions of his chair. Across from him, Ansaric sat cross-legged on the rug, hanging on the old man's words.

"So, Spock, let us speak of you now," the old warrior began. "Or, more properly, let us speak of this sword you now carry."

"Ansaric has given the impression that this is no ordinary sword," Spock answered quietly, pointedly. "I have seen that it is indeed rather ... remarkable, but you seem to attach quite a lot of ... extra importance to it."

Suvakh nodded gravely. "Indeed I do, nephew. As you will see." Settling into an almost trance-like state, chanting the words he had learned by rote and repeated countless times, the old Vulcan began his tale:

"Many, many years ago, legend has it, an old woman came to an armorer and commissioned him to make her a silver sword. The armorer laughed and asked what an old beggar woman would do with such a sword and how she would pay for his work. The old woman brought forth a pouch filled with precious stones and said he could have his pick of any three if he made the sword. He took her then to be a miser, hoarding her wealth, and agreed. He set to work, following the old woman's precise instructions.

"At last the sword was finished and by then had become famous in the town. Many people came to see it. The sword seemed to shine with a light all its own and the silver engravings and reliefs carved on the blade seemed to come alive. They told the story of the Creation, how the gods came down and brought order to the chaos. How they chose something that was special and gave it a greater loveliness and hid it away in the bowels of the earth — the silver from which the sword was made. The sword was perfect. Not a grain of silver was wasted, and there was not a grain too much.

"The old woman came and paid the armorer and had him take the sword to an obscure warrior on the field of battle. She accompanied him and presented the sword to the warrior. Now, there was great darkness in the world at this time and such a gift was looked upon with great suspicion.

"The warrior was bewildered and asked who she was and why she should bring him such a magnificent sword. The old woman seemed to grow taller and she took the sword from him. Then she stepped into the open and threw off her cloak, raising the sword to the sun.

"At once, she grew young and beautiful and her hair turned from gray to silver and shown with a light all its own. The sword began to glow and pulsate and, with a cry, she thrust it into the very heart of the sun. It exploded with color and blazed like a torch in her hand, and the men covered their faces in fear.

"Then, when the blaze was absorbed within it, but the sword still shown like a beacon, the woman turned and held out the weapon to the soldier, but he shrank away in fear.

"'Who are you?' he begged.

"'I am the one whom men call the Goddess of Day. I am the roar of the Mountain and the whisper of streams issuing from it. I am the fertility of the soil and the barrenness of the wastes. I am the Mother of All Things and the Death of All Things. I am Heya.'

"And the men fell down before her and wept in terror. 'Rise,' she said, her voice like the sound of distant thunder. 'Rise and face me.' The warrior turned his eyes upon her and slowly rose. The Goddess stood before him, transfigured, clad in stars. 'You are chosen,' she said, 'and this sword shall be our sign. You shall lead this land to peace and unity. Your foes shall give way before you and the land will be yours. We have spoken. Let it be so.' He took the sword in trembling hands and knelt before her, his head bowed. The breeze moved gently and she was gone.

"This was our Great King Solan, who took the mountain of Seleya, which is named for the Goddess, and all the lands around her and set our House upon it, where we Hold to this day. The sword remained at his side all the days of his life and Solan lived to a good old age, and when he died, the sword was buried with him. It lay with him in the crypt for decades, guarded always.

"But the Goddess had not intended that the sword should lie hidden and gathering dust. Solan's descendants fought among themselves and the land was in danger of war.   Heya appeared to Solan's grandson, Sakan, and led him to the resting place of the sword. He took it from his grandfather's bones and, when he did so, the _katra_ of Solan came upon him and entered him, so that Sakan rose up infused with his grandfather's spirit and knowledge. It led him through the years of war and peace, guiding him. Before he died an old man, he passed it along to one whom the Goddess had chosen as the bearer and again the _katra_ entered its new host. To this day, Heya chooses who will wear the sword and Solan's _katra_ goes with it. We are not privy to her reasons, but the bearer always appears when and where the Goddess decides."

The old man fell silent and, after a moment of quiet, Spock turned his gaze away from the window to find both Suvakh and Ansaric looking steadfastly and expectantly at him. A chill ran over him as the implications of the story sank in. He shook his head in denial. "No, you don't mean me."

"You bear the sword now," Ansaric answered in a soft, urgent voice.

"No, Tumik was the bearer. I just picked it up along with his other things."

"The bearer is whomever Heya chooses," Suvakh responded. "She led you to Tumik and put the sword into your hands. Did you not feel the change come over you when you first held it?" Spock's startled expression must have betrayed him because the old man leaned forward and demanded, "You experienced _katra'tolok_ , didn't you?" It wasn't a question but a statement.

Spock frowned and shook his head again, trying not to remember the thoughts and emotions that had swept over him, the inexplicable knowledge he now possessed of things, and the rising sense of destiny that refused to go away. He put his hands over his face for a moment, wishing he could wake up and find that he was back in his cabin on the _Enterprise_ , the victim only of a particularly vivid dream. But, when he lifted his head again, he was still in the upper room of the ancient fortress of Shar'ram, the sounds of late afternoon filtering in through the window, and the two men across from him peering at him as if expecting him to transform into a god.

"What do you want of me?" he asked with a feeling of despair consuming him. "I am no hero or great warrior."

"Spock, you were chosen and brought to us for a reason," Suvakh answered. "Heya will lead you as she wishes, in her own time and to her own place. Be content and trust in her wisdom."

Spock turned and put both feet on the floor, leaning earnestly toward the old man. " _Sai_ , you mistake me for someone I am not," he said forcefully. "An accident of fate allowed me to come upon Tumik's body and recover his possessions. Nothing more than that. There was no deity involved here."

"You must have faith in Heya," Suvakh replied calmly.

Spock sighed and tried again. "Lord Suvakh, I am not a religious man. I have never believed in any god. I reverence the ancestors, but my life has been guided by logic and science, not faith. I cannot now blithely and simply take up faith in a deity whom I do not believe exists."

Ansaric looked taken aback, but Suvakh merely returned his intent gaze. "Spock, believing or disbelieving in something does not make it real or unreal. You are still a young man. When you have lived two hundred years, then look back and decide what you believe or do not. My advice is that you look within yourself and go where your heart leads you. Do not argue logic with it, simply follow the path you feel that you must follow. That will be the path Heya will lead you down, whether you hold her hand or not."

Spock started to reply that he had been to many worlds and had seen no gods or goddesses, but cut himself off before he could say anything on that topic. So doing would betray his origins and would be completely incomprehensible to the two other men in any case.

He looked down at the floor, then back up at the old warrior, his face hardening into determination. "Lord Suvakh, I respect your beliefs in this matter but please hear what I am saying. I came here on a mission, yes, but it is not the one you seem to think. I am pursuing a man from my homeland, a madman who is bent on the destruction of us all. I have come to find him and return him to face justice." Spock paused. "Perhaps he has passed this way and you have heard of him. His name is S'Von."

Suvakh came to his feet in surprise and looked around at Ansaric, who was also staring in dumbfounded amazement. "S'Von! Then you _have_ been led here by destiny. Do you not know of the trouble in the north? The very thing we are preparing to fight?"

"No, _sai_. I have been on the road for a long time and I am not current on the news of the land."

"S'Von of D'Khahl is leading an army south, conquering and destroying everything in his path. His next target is Tuldu'un. If we do not stop him there, then Shar'ram is his certain destination."

Spock felt a chill of understanding sweep over him and he slowly rose to his feet, nodding. "So..." he murmured to himself, one eyebrow quirking up in revelation, and turned to stare out the window, his hands behind his back in a characteristic pose. "It seems that there _is_ purpose in my coming here, after all." He was silent for a few seconds, then addressed the other two men. "Yes, his ultimate goal _is_ Shar'ram. And me. He won't stop until he has seen the House of Ni'ikhirch crushed and he rules Vulcan from Heya's Seat. "

Suvakh approached him. "That is why Heya has brought you here. Together we must defeat this madman."

Spock looked around at him, his expression grim yet strangely calm. "No, _sai_. Now that I know where he is, I will go there and apprehend him. He is my responsibility, not yours."

Ansaric rose to his feet and came over to face the other Vulcan. "Alone? Have you lost your mind? No one man can capture S'Von. He has the hordes of D'Khahl behind him. How in Heya's name could you even get near him?"

Spock merely stared back implacably, but Suvakh spoke up. "Ansaric is right. You'd never make it through the front lines of his army, let alone get near him. No, Spock, the only way is to meet him in battle and defeat him there. You were sent here for that purpose."

"I was not sent here to lead an army, _sai_ ," Spock responded stubbornly. "That is not my mission. You must find someone else for _that_ role. Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I have said enough on this subject. Good day, my lord ... Ansaric." He turned and strode from the chamber, leaving the two other men to exchanged frustrated looks in his wake.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Seven months prior..._ **

Stefin slammed his fist down on the council table and shouted, "I tell you again — we are not strong enough to march on Seleya! Shar'ram is the most heavily fortified city on Vulcan and it would take an army three times this size to even _begin_ to lay siege to it! Where do you propose that we find that many men?!"

S'Von glared at him icily. "Ally yourself with the holders of Seka and Elakil. Promise them lands and riches in exchange for their aid." He leaned forward in his chair, his caramel-colored eyes locked on Stefin with a fanatical light. "Promise them Seleya itself if that's what it takes! You know yourself what a prize that mountain is. The springs there are ever flowing. There are many who would sacrifice their entire holdings to be able to control the water there."

"And why do you think the Ni'ikhirchi fight so fiercely to hold it," Stefin hissed back at him. "Shar'ram is impregnable because of those springs! We can _never_ launch a successful siege against it! The bigger the army we send against it, the more supplies and water it will require. How do you propose that we provision an army that size?"

"Then draw them out of Shar'ram," S'Von replied, leaning back again. "Get them out of their fortress and onto an open battlefield. Defeat them there."

"Easily said," Stefin grumbled, turning his back and walking away.

"Anskar is powerful and his neighbors rely on him for protection. All you have to do is attack one of them. Tuldu'un, for instance. Sefak is his cousin. He'll come to his aid, surely enough."

The Holder stared out the window onto his courtyard and to the new stone wall that was going up in place of the old wooden one. "Possible," he mused at last, unwilling to admit to his sorcerer that his advice was sound. "I will consider it."

Abruptly, he turned and walked to the doorway connecting to his bedchamber. Flinging open the door, he demanded without preamble, "T'Kaela! Attend me!" In a moment, the young woman appeared in the doorway, unsmiling but unflinching before her husband. "Did I not tell you to have my mid-meal served here?"

"I told the serving women to bring it here," she answered stiffly, loathing plain upon her face.

"Then why is it not here?!"

"I don't know." Her voice was defiant, hard.

"Watch your tone, woman! Get down to the kitchens and get it!"

She seemed to grow taller. "I will have the steward do so."

Without warning, Stefin backhanded her, sending her crashing to the floor. "I did not say send the steward, did I?" he growled. " _You_ bring it. And then I'll feed part of it to you just to make sure you haven't poisoned it as well. Now, get up!"

T'Kaela climbed shakily to her feet, her expression murderous, but she answered meekly, "Yes, my lord." She gingerly touched the livid green bruise where he had hit her, already swelling. Straightening herself proudly, she turned and left the room.

S'Von had watched the exchange with satisfaction. Stefin would buy his own death and then the sorcerer would be done with the fool. And, once done, he himself would lead the army to Seleya and Ni'ikhirchi defeat.

* * *

Disturbed by the turn of events, Spock sought to do what he always did when troubled. He went in search of a secluded place in which he could be alone and meditate in order to clear his mind and sort through all that had happened. Walking away from Suvakh's second floor chambers, he spied stairs at the end of the hallway leading up and he took that route.

The steps led him to the upper ramparts of the fortress and to the curtain wall surrounding the complex. From here, the valley spread out before him and he could see the little village and the fields scattered below. To the southwest Sas-a-Shar rolled to the horizon, its icy whiteness belying the inferno it became in daylight hours. To the west and northwest the Llangon Hills undulated into the distance, the red sun now sinking below their dark rims, shooting its final rays across the ochre-colored sky. Several _alo'oe_ rode the last thermals of the evening, searching the desert for prey. Closer to the fortress, flights of _teresh'kah_ were coming in to roost on the cliff face below Shar'ram.

In the village, Spock could see people returning from the fields, leading teams of _s'boxa_ and a _hox_ or two. Lights were beginning to wink on in the houses and smoke was rising from chimneys as fires for last-meal were lit. In the quietness of the evening, he could hear faint laughter on the gentle breeze and the bleat of _paran_ as they were herded into night shelter, away from hunting _le'matya_ or _sehlat_.

The peace of his surroundings drained the troubles of the day away from Spock's soul and he rested his hands on the thick yellow sandstone blocks of the wall, leaning to breathe in the clean air. The light wind ruffled his dark hair and plucked at his clothing, imparting the first hint of the night's coolness. He was so absorbed in his reverie that he failed to notice he was not alone until a faint footstep caused him to spin to his right.

T'Preve had been standing in the shadows and now she stepped forward into the light. "Good evening, cousin," she said, clutching her cloak around her as the breeze gusted up a little. "Now it is my turn to startle _you_."

"Good evening," he answered. "I didn't know anyone was here. I hope I didn't disturb you."

"No, not at all. I had just come up to watch the sunset."

He nodded and turned back to the vista. "Yes ... it's lovely tonight."

"Yes..." Their conversation faded away awkwardly and she stepped closer to the parapet.

He couldn't help noticing the way the rosy sunlight limned her features and painted highlights into her long black hair, rippling about her face and shoulders. Again, from deep inside came the surge of attraction he had felt when he'd first seen her, the indefinable longing he'd experienced in her presence. He had to remind himself that she was betrothed to another man and that the feelings building in him were impossible and wrong. But when she turned and looked up at him with her beautiful mahogany eyes, he could scarcely contain the rush of emotions that leapt up within him.

She seemed to be having her own internal struggle, for her expression mirrored his own for a moment, then she turned pointedly away, back to where the sun had at last moved below the horizon. "I must go," she said softly. "It would be very awkward to explain our being together here."

"What's wrong?" he asked. "You didn't seem upset when I saw you in the garden. Has something happened?"

"I'm afraid my pledge-mate would be unhappy if I were seen in the company of another," was all she would say.

"Stahl," answered Spock in the same quiet tone, understanding.

She nodded. "He saw you coming away from the garden this afternoon. He was ... not pleased."

"Would it help if I spoke with him? Assured him that I have no evil designs on you?"

"No, please—" She caught herself and gave him a long, searching look. "No, don't do that. It would only make him worse. I told him that you were only being kind in speaking to me, but he... He doesn't like other men showing me any attention." She looked back toward the darkening horizon. The breeze teased tendrils of her dark hair around her cheeks and lips and he had to forcefully contain an urge to reach up and brush them away from her face.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, almost in a whisper, unable to pull his gaze away from her delicate features. "I did not intend to cause you any trouble."

Turning back to him, her eyes met his for an endless moment. Again the inexplicable longing surged in him, as though there was something about her that his soul recognized and cried out to reclaim.

As if she had intercepted the aura of his thoughts, she caught her breath slightly and exhaled with a barely audible little sound. A hint of the same emotions he was feeling flashed over her face, then she said, "I must go. Good evening, cousin." She hurried past him, disappearing down the staircase, her skirts swirling in a last flourish.

She nearly knocked down Ansaric, who moved quickly out of her way and nodded as she passed. "Lady! I'm sorry — I didn't see you." He then stepped out onto the landing and turned to walk toward Spock. "Ah, master ... there you are."

"I'm not your master, Ansaric," Spock answered, feeling suddenly irritated again, and turned back to gaze out over the darkening valley.

"You are the sword bearer and I am your _shi'ka'ree_ ," the young man retorted, coming to stand beside him. "That makes you my master." Spock merely grunted in answer, refusing him any further reply than that. "Lord Suvakh sent me to inquire if you will be meeting with Lord Anskar later tonight."

"If he will see me."

"Good. Then he will be most interested to learn that you wear the sword. It could make a difference in his plans for the war."

Spock spun on him. "I am truly weary of hearing about this sword and how I am now supposed to be a great, god-like figure that has come to save Shar'ram," he said acidly. "That is _not_ why I am here!"

"Our missions are one and the same, master," Ansaric answered. "You are sword bearer now."

"Then I will find someone else to take this marvelous sword. I don't want it!"

Ansaric regarded him coolly, exasperation simmering under his stony expression. "Very well, get rid of it then ... if you can. Throw it away. Or give it to me."

"Gladly!" Spock reached down and unbuckled the sword belt. Removing it from around his waist, he shoved it toward the young man who stood before him.

As Spock did so, inexplicably his heart began to pound and his hand began to tremble. The harder he tried to thrust the weapon into Ansaric's grasp, the shorter his breath became and the more violently his arm shook. The muscles in his hand refused to work, to loosen their hold on the sword belt. Finally, as if to prove his point, Ansaric reached to take the sword — and Spock cried out and yanked it back, clutching it against his chest.

Ansaric didn't seem surprised. "You see?" he asked quietly. "You cannot rid yourself of it. Solan won't allow it. You bear his sword and his _katra_. And you _will_ , until either you die or Heya brings forth the next bearer. And I am your _shi'ka'ree_ , as I was Tumik's. Your squire, your aide, your companion. I am appointed by the Goddess to serve you. I am as bound to my destiny as you are to yours."

Spock suddenly knew that it was true. He had felt that his heart would burst had he allowed the sword out of his keeping. The interloping _katra_ inside his head had reared itself up with a roar and prohibited such action. He could more easily sever his hand from his arm than voluntarily give the sword up into another's possession. As soon as he had attempted it, he knew to whom this sword truly belonged. It was yet another indication that he was forever trapped in this time period, with any hope of returning home fading away like the last vestiges of the sunset in the deepening western sky.

With a sigh of defeat, Spock bowed his head and strapped the sword belt back around his waist, settling the weapon at his side. "What must I do?" he asked, almost rhetorically.

"Right now? Come down to last-meal," Ansaric answered kindly, taking his master's upper arm to gently pull him toward the staircase. "You have had a day that few would envy and you're tired and hungry. Afterwards, you'll feel more like talking with Anskar about what is to come. But first — eat! I hear Cook's made _s'ruk_ tarts for sweet course tonight! And have you ever had her honey cakes? Unbelievable!"

* * *

"What do you have?" asked Jim Kirk as he seated himself at the conference table. Dr. Amy Dean and the two Vulcan analysts, Salek and Tokohl, all had grim expressions. At least, Dean did. It was hard to tell with the Vulcans, but they certainly didn't look any too pleased. "Bad?" Kirk continued.

"Bad enough, Jim," the archaeologist replied. "We've found a major discrepancy in the timelines." She turned and nodded at Salek, a short, rather stocky man who appeared to be in his 40's.

Salek keyed up the sequence on the viewing screen. A shot of a castle-like fortress topping a cliff appeared, golden underneath an orange-tinted sky. In the background rose the bulk of a gigantic mountain, sporting a side canyon where part of the mountain had splintered off at some unknown date. A slender bridge joined this splinter to the main bulk of the mountain and the small pinnacle was crowned by a shrine complex. "Here is an excerpt from the records we brought from Vulcan."

"Mt. Seleya," Kirk said, recognizing it.

Salek worked the keys again and the screen split into two images, almost identical. This time, however, the fortress lay in ruins, only tumbled, eroded blocks marking its presence above a neat, circular city that the starship officer knew to be ShiKahr. "And here is the same bit from the Gateway timeline."

The three scientists turned to look at him. Kirk could feel the air of tension and confusion permeating the room. "I don't get it," he said.

Tokohl, a tall, gaunt young man, spoke up. "Captain Kirk, when we left Vulcan, the fortress of Shar'ram was intact and in use as an educational center."

"But that's impossible," the captain stuttered. "Shar'ram has been in ruins since recorded time."

"Has it, Captain?" asked Salek. "Not according to _our_ records. Nor our memories. I assure you, I saw it myself from the shuttle window as we were leaving the spaceport at ShiKahr."

"God," Kirk murmured, causing the Vulcans to both twitch up an eyebrow at almost the same time. It would have been funny if the situation hadn't been so serious. "Then which is correct? Should Shar'ram be standing or in ruins? And why does it matter?"

"That is what we must now seek to answer, Jim," responded Dr. Dean.

"No," Kirk said suddenly. "No, Shar'ram _should_ be in ruins. The timeline here, on Gateway, is the correct one. Spock or S'Von has done _something_ in the past to change it, but that fortress was not meant to be standing today."

"Perhaps," Tokohl nodded. "I am unwilling to concede that fully at this time. We will continue to compare the timelines."

The captain nodded. "You're right. Maybe this has nothing to do with Spock or S'Von. Maybe this is just a coincidence and stems from something else entirely. For all we know, S'Von could have killed someone important or Spock could have prevented someone from being killed who was meant to die." Abruptly the lovely face of Edith Keeler flashed through Kirk's mind and he felt a stab of old pain, then forced it down. "Or the great-grandson of someone they affected could have had a significant effect on something. It could be any of a million things. Keep looking. On the other hand, you may have just narrowed down our search pattern." Kirk rose from his chair. "My gut feeling is that Shar'ram may be the focal point to concentrate our search. Now we just have to find out what it was that changed history ... and how — or if — Spock and S'Von were involved in whatever happened there."


	11. Chapter 11

**_Six months prior..._ **

Stefin held up the jeweled beaker and asked, "May I offer you wine, my lords?" He made to pour into the golden goblets on the large wooden council table but his two guests lifted their hands in a manner of refusal.

"Not until after negotiations are concluded, my Lord Stefin," responded Stakkan of Seka Holding, folding his hands together over his large stomach and leveling a slightly skeptical gaze at his host. "I know that you would not wish us to speak with less than clear minds and hearts."

"Of course not, my dear Stakkan," the Holder of D'Khahl smiled ferally and replaced the beaker on its serving platter. "But please do feel free to help yourselves to any delicacies that interest you." He indicated the two young slave girls who stood by silently, identical twins, each bearing a tray of appetizers — cubed, spice-cured _s'box_ meat, pickled _h'nan_ eggs, cheeses made from _paran_ and _hox_ milk, fruits and nut cakes. His sly expression seemed to signify that the girls were included in the category of "delicacies" if his guests so desired.

Stakkan and the other guest, Tylok of Elakil Holding, read his meaning clearly and smiled slowly in appreciation. "I thank you, Stefin," the older man answered. "Perhaps later we will partake of your hospitality."

"Very good. I shall see to your comfort." He jerked his chin at the slaves. "Leave the trays and go now. You will be summoned later." Hastily they obeyed him and exited the room, closing the chamber doors after them.

"Lovely," Tylok commented.

"Yes, they are. Who would have thought that the country villages would hold such treasures, hmm?" Stefin reached over and took one of the small blue eggs from the tray, popping it whole into his mouth. "I love these. My chief cook makes them marvelously well. I took him from Telapul when I conquered it. Please, my lords, do help yourselves. And if you won't have wine, then perhaps hot _saya_ tea would suit you?"

Stakkan appraised him and then relaxed a bit. "Very well. Yes, _saya_ would be welcome. Tylok?"

"Thank you. I will join you in _saya_."

"Very good." Stefin busied himself with the preparation of the tea and in short order the atmosphere in the meeting chamber had warmed considerably.

As Stakkan munched on nut cakes, he cast his narrow eyes at his host and said lightly, "Your circumstances have certainly improved, Stefin. A lot of new-found wealth here."

"Which you could share, my dear Stakkan," the Holder responded, directing a knowing gaze at the other man. "S'Von here—" and he waved a hand at his sorcerer who was sitting silently across the room. "—has opened whole new worlds to me since his arrival."

"So I see. Lord S'Von, I bow to your knowledge and adeptness."

S'Von nodded in answer. "There is much wealth in this land that we feel is held in the wrong hands, my lord. We would like to see it ... redistributed."

Tylok gave a short, mirthless laugh. "Redistributed, indeed. Into your own coffers."

"Oh, not at all, my friend," Stefin responded. "We are perfectly willing to share. With the right people."

The tall, thin holder reclined into his cushions. "I see."

Stefin leaned forward, intent. "Let us get to business, my lords. Our goal is the biggest prize of them all — Seleya." Stakkan's eyebrows went up at that and he turned and exchanged looks with Tylok. "But we need help to take it. _Your_ help, Stakkan, and _yours_ , Tylok. With our combined armies, we can defeat Anskar and take Seleya for our own."

"And into whose coffers would this prize go, if I may ask?" Stakkan questioned.

Stefin waved a hand in dismissal. "We will work out equitable terms. The south holds riches enough for all of us. Tuldu'un is there for the taking as well and that province is nearly as wealthy as Seleya ... and much easier to take, I might add. And there are such easy pickings that they would be only a day's labor — S'Nyn, Muzhik, T'Pah, Al'Borak ..." He smiled. "More than we could ever dream. All it would take is the doing. What say you, my lords?"

Stakkan exchanged appraising glances with Tylok, then turned back to his host and smiled broadly. "I say, pour the wine, my lord."

* * *

Anskar looked up from his work as Suvakh, Ansaric and Spock entered the council chamber. He had been bent over the large table there, studying maps drawn onto parchment and talking earnestly with his military captains. Stahl, standing prominently beside the Holder, also straightened. There were a number of other men present, perusing the maps and discussing military tactics. As the three men entered, Stahl's eyes narrowed a bit at the sight of Spock, but he said nothing.

"Anskar, there's something we must discuss with you," Suvakh began. "It could significantly affect our defenses."

The Holder raised his eyebrows and responded, "Indeed? What is it, uncle?"

Ansaric exchanged glances with his companions, then stepped forward and announced, "Lord Anskar, you know that my master, Lord Tumik, was on his way here from Tuldu'un when he was killed along the road. What you don't know, _sai_ , is that he was the Bearer of Kh'Liorah, the Sword of Light."

" _What?!_ " Anskar went rigid with shock. The others present reacted with similar amazement and dismay. It took a moment for the implications and all the subsequent developments to sort themselves out in the Holder's brain, then his gaze moved and locked onto Spock. "Then ... you ..."

"Yes, _sai_ ," Spock answered quietly. "I wear the sword now."

"Impossible!" retorted Stahl.

"Quiet!" Anskar snapped, then turned back to Spock. "Why didn't you come to me before?"

"I only just learned of its importance myself, _sai_ ," Spock answered.

"May I see it?"

Spock drew the sword and a false dawn lit the room. As the other men gathered around to see the legendary weapon, the Holder examined it reverently. "Yes ... yes," he nodded, lovingly fingering the carvings. "I should have realized before... Here ... and here..." He pointed to runes engraved on the blade.

He looked up at Spock and a hint of a smile played about the corners of his mouth. "One was promised ... a savior or champion would be sent to us. That is why you felt compelled to return to Seleya, Spock. You are that one."

"Lord Anskar, this man isn't a warrior," Stahl complained. "He's a fraud. Isn't it obvious that he killed Tumik and stole the sword? Why are you taken in by his story?"

Anskar gave him a cold glare. "We have settled that question, Stahl. Heya has decided."

"I still protest the outcome of that combat, _sai_. It was not concluded properly. How do we know _what_ Heya decided?"

The Holder swung on his military leader. "We know what _I_ decided! The subject is closed!"

"Lord, Stahl is right in a sense. I am not a warrior as he understands the term. And I did not come prepared for war," Spock commented solemnly. "Although I have gone into battle many times before ... when it was necessary. I came here on a mission, but not the one you think. As I explained to Lord Suvakh, I am searching for a man of my homeland, a criminal and a madman who has fled here to escape justice. I have come to find S'Von of D'Khahl."

Anskar's heavy brows lifted in surprise and he glanced around at Stahl, who was also looking somewhat dumbfounded. "S'Von! Then you _have_ been led here by destiny."

Spock sighed. "I have argued this very point with Suvakh and Ansaric. Despite the accident that brought the sword into my possession, I did not come here to fight in your war. I seek only to apprehend S'Von and return him for trial. And I shall do so as peacefully as I can."

"Peacefully!" snorted Stahl in contempt. "You are either a moron or hopelessly naive if you think S'Von can be taken peacefully!"

One of Stahl's lieutenants, Temek, joined in. "And if you think you'll be _allowed_ to lead him away like a _s'box_ calf, with a ring through his nose, then I shall be there to see _that!_ After the atrocities that murdering butcher has committed, we'll make a spectacle of his punishment. You'll have to stand in line to get your turn at him! Of course, there won't be much left by that point!" The warriors in the room laughed coarsely at the joke.

Spock didn't see the humor in it. "So, you'll commit an atrocity to avenge S'Von's atrocities?" he asked quietly.

Anskar waved them to silence. "The point is, Spock, that you'd have to fight your way through his entire army just to reach him and then you'd have to fight _my_ people to get him away from their vengeance. No, my cousin. One man — even the Sword Bearer — simply cannot do what you describe. Because it's not just S'Von that we have to stop. It's the hordes that follow him. If he's dead, then another leader will simply take his place and the carnage will continue unabated."

The gray-haired Holder shook his head and turned back to the map table. "His next target is Tuldu'un. That much is obvious, even though it will take him several weeks to move his army south and into position. Ansaric, I had intended to send for you in the morning and dispatch you back to Lord Sefak to let him know that we will be coming to his aid. I will also be sending riders to my sons and subholders to gather their men and meet us within the next 20 days on the fields west of Shar'ram."

"Lord, I _must_ find S'Von and take him back with me to face justice. That is my primary mission here," Spock insisted.

"Perhaps the two purposes are in reality the same," Anskar mused thoughtfully. "The Goddess will know why you have been brought here. But I do know that she has sent you. Her purpose will be revealed to us in time."

"As you say, _sai_." Spock dropped his chin in resignation, knowing it would be futile to argue, and re-sheathed his sword. The rosy light was smothered off once more.

The Holder sat down at the table and took up a fine _hox_ hair brush, dipping it into ink. As he began his message in the flowing vertical script of Vulcan cursive, he said to Ansaric, "I will have full instructions for you in the morning. Go now and rest well, for I will send for you at dawn. You, too, Spock. I will call for you as soon as I send off Ansaric on his mission. We have much to plan before the rest of our army arrives and we can march to aid Tuldu'un. You say that you have gone into battle before. Perhaps there are techniques and strategies that you know from war in your land that would be new to us. And new to S'Von as well. And we must bring you current on the things that have been done so far so that we may prepare our defenses. I only pray there is time enough."


	12. Chapter 12

**_Four months prior..._ **

The larger of the two _h'nan_ cocks expanded its neck scales up to their fullest extent and stood on its hind legs in full threat display. The other cock, though lacking the impressive size of its rival, matched the display move for move. The two animals strutted in a circle about each other, oblivious to the boisterous ring of men shouting and wagering on the outcome of the duel.

The larger _h'nan_ male opened its mouth and hissed, showing its multitude of needle-like teeth. The challenger did likewise and the animals moved closer, a practice lunge here and a swipe there with extended talons as each tested the strength and mettle of the other. To one side, the caged female chirped and ran nervously up and down the length of her confining bars, seeking release. Whether to escape or join the males was unclear, for she was in estrus and hot to mate with the victor of the battle erupting before her.

The two males knew it well and this spurred their combat to a fever pitch. The smaller _h'nan_ refused to back down before the ranking male and, with a screech, launched itself forward. Its charge was met with vigor and in seconds the two animals had exploded into a blur of teeth, talons and blood. The noise of the spectators at the cock fight grew even louder and the pace of the betting picked up rapidly.

The larger cockerel had its opponent down now, teeth locked onto its throat, but the smaller animal was fighting hard, hind legs scrambling, ripping claws viciously against the belly scales of the other. The big one was tough and experienced, however, and just managed to keep the talons from gashing open its underside. It bore down on the throat hold and shook its rival, closing off the windpipe. The smaller cock began to fight more for survival than conquest, but it was too late. In two minutes' time, it lay limply between the victor's teeth.

Angrily, the owner of the dead _h'nan_ stepped into the ring and tried to take the body away from the other _h'nan_ cock. The winning animal refused to relinquish its prize so easily, however, and flew at the man, snapping its vicious jaws furiously. The man jumped and danced out of its way, to the great amusement of the warriors surrounding the pit. The ring vibrated with raucous laughter and bets began to be paid over with much commentary.

S'Von had been watching with as much interest as the others. He had never seen this cruel sport before coming to D'Khahl, the Vulcans of his own time being much too civilized to condone such a savage pastime. But he had to admit that it was exciting and the outcome never certain. And it kept the barbaric fervor of killing high in the men gathered here in the campsite outside the walls of D'Khahl Holding. They would be marching soon, he knew, and then they would have more sport than a simple cock fight.

The next bout was beginning, this time not mere _h'nan_ , but fighting _seehn_ , the canids long domesticated for companionship and work. These had been bred for their aggressive tendencies and muscle. They were great favorites, apparently, for the roar of adulation that went up from the warriors at the sight of the straining, frothing animals startled S'Von. The owners of the _seehn_ could scarcely restrain the slavering beasts in their eagerness to get at one another and, finally, at a signal, released them. The _seehn_ collided into a maelstrom of slashing white teeth and flying blood and fur.

S'Von slipped away from the commotion and moved back toward the stronghold. For a moment, listening to the snarls of the animals and the shouts of the men, even he wondered what tide of savagery he had unleashed upon his world. Then he smiled in satisfaction, knowing that such sadistic brutality would win him that world. And very soon now, too.

Very soon now.

* * *

Over the next two weeks, men and weapons began arriving from the outlying provinces envassaled to Anskar. Three of his four sons arrived with their armies and their own subholders. The fortress began to fill with people, then the town below, and finally the fields around the town were peopled with soldiers, _hoxa_ and followers, all bringing in supplies and ordnance. The province of Seleya began to transform itself into a military camp.

Anskar had sent Ansaric back to Tuldu'un with his message and had dispatched Stahl and two others to go with him as escort. It was as much to separate Stahl from Spock as it was for the stated mission. The Holder could read the signs as surely as he could the seasons and there was no doubt in his mind that there was a battle brewing between the two. He had no idea why Stahl had taken such an instant dislike to the visitor from the desert, but the coming war gave him more than enough worry just now.

As for Spock, he spent his days drilling and practicing with the swordmasters, improving his feel and handling of the sword he now possessed, never forgetting the fact that each day brought S'Von closer to their confrontation. He chafed at this forced waiting, eager as he was to search out and apprehend the renegade. But as always he ran up against the inescapable dilemma. _What then?_ He had always intended to return S'Von to the present and transfer him back to Federation custody. He was sure that this time S'Von would be remanded to a maximum security mental facility for treatment, Tantalus Colony in all probability. _But how to return to the future?_

Some part of him still hoped for rescue by his _Enterprise_ crewmates, but that hope was fast disappearing in the face of reality. Logic dictated that if they were going to come looking for him, they would have arrived by now. Still, he felt compelled to carry out his mission of finding and arresting S'Von. Perhaps something would yet occur that would solve the dilemma in which he found himself. What, he had no idea, but for the time being, he would carry on as planned.

So, he practiced and drilled with the sword, and in the afternoons and evenings, he met with Anskar and his captains and plotted out strategies. As he got to know the men with whom he worked and they became acquainted with him, mutual respect began to grow and Anskar quickly learned that Spock's military experience was no mere boast. The new-found cousin of the Ni'ikhirch clan possessed a knowledge of tactics and warfare that surprised them all and, even though he steadfastly maintained that he was no warrior, they all came to believe that he had commanded men with the assurance and courage of an experienced military leader.

One morning, feeling that he needed to improve his riding ability in preparation for the coming battle, Spock took Brax outside the village to a clearing that had not yet filled with an encampment. There, he exercised him, letting him gallop until he had stretched his muscles, then working him in turns, stops and starts, getting used to the feel of the _hox_ 's moves. Again, Spock wondered at the ease he felt when riding, at the natural way he and Brax meshed together. The two of them were in perfect harmony and, after a while, Spock began to experiment with guiding the _hox_ only with pressure from his knees. He would need both hands free and, to his delight, he discovered that Brax was fully trained in such skills. Indeed, it was Brax who seemed to be doing the training here. He projected to his rider all of his movements before he did them so that Spock was never taken off-guard and unseated. The ballet of their movements was wondrous to behold.

They worked together for a couple of hours before Brax let Spock know that it was time for a break and stopped under a little stand of trees that provided shade from the growing heat of the late morning sun. Spock took the hint and dismounted, unsaddled and unbridled the _hox_ , and turned him loose to graze for a while.

Propping the saddle up in the shade of the trees, Spock leaned back against it and stretched out in the short grass to watch the gray _hox_ feed. The morning was quiet and he let his mind drift as he listened to the faint sounds of the countryside — the soft breeze sighing through the leaves above him, the tinkle of horn-bells on the _paran_ herd grazing near the village, someone laughing far away. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of the encamped army — the clink of swords as men practiced, the neigh of _hoxa_ , the shout of sergeants drilling their men.

It was unbelievably peaceful here. He'd become so accustomed to the constant background noises of the _Enterprise_ — the underlying thrum of the engines through the deck plates, the hiss of the ventilation system, the constant peep and chirp of the instruments, the soft mutter of people's voices — that he'd forgotten what real _quiet_ was. In his own day, it was nearly impossible to find a spot this serene on Vulcan unless one went into the deep desert, and even there one was subjected to the whispered roar of ships dopplering out to space, of passenger transports humming through the sky, of the very planet seeming to vibrate with life. One was always aware of the busy, 23rd century world in which one lived. Here, it was easy to forget about the world he'd inadvertently left behind and to sink into this time and place. He already half-felt that he belonged here, that _this_ was his _real_ place in the continuum of things.

He had closed his eyes to meditate when he heard running footsteps rapidly coming his way and he sat up to see a _paran_ lamb galloping toward him, two people in hot pursuit. One was a half-grown girl with a look of determination on her face, a _paran_ stick in one hand. The other was T'Preve, her skirts flying, looking just as determined to catch the lamb as the girl was.

The lamb was bent on escape and it didn't notice Spock until the man suddenly bolted up from behind the tree and made a grab at it. The lamb bleated in shock, leaped out of Spock's reach, did a twist in the air and took off in another direction.

The girl changed her heading in mid-stride and followed, running hard, but T'Preve skittered to a halt, gasping, "Spock!"

"I missed him. I'm sorry."

"It's all right. T'Lynn may be able to catch him," she panted, out of breath.

"Here, drink some water," he said, bending down to retrieve the water bag from his saddle and handing it to her.

She gladly accepted and took a mouthful, quenching her dry throat. "Thank you, m'lord," she finally was able to say.

"I thought we were cousins," he reminded her, smiling.

She looked contrite and smiled in return, then handed the water bag back to him. "Yes, of course." She got her breathing back under control and turned her attention to where the young girl had finally managed to trap the lamb against a little outcropping of rocks and get her hands on it. Looking triumphant, she was now coming back their way with the fugitive in her arms.

T'Preve applauded and called, "Good work, T'Lynn!"

The girl grinned in answer and returned to them, dropping down beside the two other people. She tied a line around the lamb's neck before she accepted the water bag and took a good drink. Spock and T'Preve settled themselves back onto the grass beside the herding girl, Spock crossing his long legs tailor-fashion and resting his forearms on his knees.

It did not escape his notice that T'Preve had lost the tenseness and solemnity that had blanketed her when they had met on the upper wall of Shar'ram. Since Stahl had left on his mission to Tuldu'un with Ansaric, the girl had visibly relaxed and her delightful personality was shining through. His heart beat a little stronger simply being with her and he wondered if she could feel the contentment he was enjoying at the moment.

She didn't seem to be giving him any obvious attention, but was instead focusing her attention on the herding girl. "I thought sure you'd lose him," T'Preve told her. "If he'd gone up that hillside instead of against that outcropping, you'd never have caught him."

"I know," T'Lynn panted, stretched out beside her. "Pa woulda striped me good if I'da let this little woolyhead become _sehlat_ meat." The _paran_ tugged at its tie line and bleated loudly. "Ah, holler all ya want. I got no sympathy for ya! Not after the chase ya led me!"

Spock did something totally unexpected — he laughed. It surprised him and he caught himself, wondering what had made him do it. True, he was thoroughly enjoying the incident but still, this was a complete lapse of his emotional control. T'Preve and T'Lynn didn't seem to think it was unusual, however, and they laughed with him. He realized abruptly that these people seemed to smile and laugh a lot. The rigid control of emotion didn't exist here and he wondered how he must appear to them — serious and lacking in humor? But he knew that he could not simply negate lifelong training and conditioning. His control seemed to be slipping away as more and more time passed, but he would not just give it up. He doubted that he could even if he tried.

Two smaller children came running up, a boy and another girl. "T'Lynn! You caught him!"

"Yeah, and he's caused enough trouble! I'll enjoy taking this one back to Pa," the girl answered. Changing topics with the ease of a child, she looked over at Spock and asked, " _Sai_ , would it be all right if we petted your _hox?_ We won't hurt him."

"I see no reason why not, providing it is agreeable with Brax," Spock replied and watched the children walk happily across the field where the big gray animal raised its head and made a soft purring sound.

T'Preve gave a little sigh. "I was _hox_ -crazy when I was her age. I suppose most children are that way."

"I'm afraid I have never been around children," Spock answered, watching the young girl expertly scratch behind one of Brax's ears. The big animal closed his eyes blissfully and moved his head so that she could get at the spot better. Other little hands found places on shoulders and flanks to scratch.

"There are no children in your village?" T'Preve responded, looking at him in a puzzled manner.

_Watch it_ , he warned himself, realizing he was about to say more than he wanted to reveal about himself. Instead, he replied, "That's not what I mean. I just don't generally have direct contact with children."

She nodded acceptance at that. "Where is your village, Spock? Is it far away?"

"Very far away," he hedged. "I don't think you would ever have heard of it."

She tilted her head and peered at him with a perceptive gaze. "You don't like to talk about yourself, do you? Why not? Did you do something wrong that forced you to leave?"

He glanced over at her then looked back at the children patting and stroking the big _hox._ "You are very inquisitive, T'Preve. No, I did nothing wrong. I left home because my father and I had a falling out over the path my life would take. It's as simple as that."

"Sometimes following the path another wishes you to take can lead in the wrong direction," she answered softly, introspectively. "A person must follow his or her heart, don't you think?"

"Indeed," he responded. "But the following is not always easy. Sometimes making peace with yourself is the hardest thing a person can do."

She smiled at him. "You are so different from any of the men I've ever known. My father chose Stahl to marry me because he is a great warrior and very tradition-bound. _You_ don't strike me exactly as a warrior, Spock, although I sense that you know war and battle and have led men."

"I have fought," he answered simply, his gaze far away. Suddenly he looked older than his years and she could see the facade of a hardened commander settle over him. Now, she could imagine him leading men into battle, a warrior who would ride into the teeth of death if that's what his duty demanded and never flinch at the prospect. She shivered at the vision and changed the subject to a softer one.

"Do you have a bondmate, Spock? Or someone to whom you are pledged?"

The warrior faded away and he was the more philosophical man again. As the breeze ruffled his thick, black hair, beginning to grow long now, he absently plucked at the grass around his ankles, silent. Then, shaking his head, he answered, "No. I am not bonded. I was pledged once but ... she wanted someone else and I released her."

"I find that very hard to believe," T'Preve said softly and he turned to find her looking at him with a deep, searching expression. Her beautiful mahogany eyes studied him as if trying to read his soul and he found himself gazing back with a matching intensity. Something about this woman touched him profoundly, calling to a place inside him that set his heart to pounding. She set other emotions stirring as well, emotions that he had felt only a few times before and which he had kept rigidly in check. He struggled to bring them under control now, knowing he could not afford to even acknowledge their existence, lest they burst free of the logical and disciplined cage in which he kept them tightly imprisoned.

All the same, he discovered that his throat was dry as he managed to say, "What ... what is hard to believe?"

"That she would want someone else," T'Preve whispered back, still holding his enraptured gaze. Her frank and intent scrutiny was lending strength to the emotional storm building inside him. Something indefinable was passing between them and, without conscious volition, Spock reached up to touch her face with his fingertips.

Brax snorted loudly and quite nearby, and they jerked their attention around to find the _hox_ standing in front of them. As the tension broke, Spock nearly laughed again, because the thought went through his mind that, if Brax could have raised a reproving eyebrow at his master, he would have. At any rate, his stare said clearly, _It's time to go home_ and Spock agreed.

Getting to his feet, Spock reached down to give T'Preve an assist then he turned back around to the children who were standing beside the _hox_. "Would you like to ride him home?"

The youngsters' expressions said all that was needed and they stood by, bouncing in eagerness, as Spock got the stallion ready to go. Then he gave T'Lynn a boost up into Brax's saddle and lifted the little ones up with her, and the group started back across the meadow toward the village, the _hox_ trailing behind the two adults, mindful of the children on his back. T'Preve carried the _paran_ lamb in her arms.

Other children joined them as they walked through the village, the riders definitely the center of attention. They had quite an entourage by the time they reached the westernmost gate of the wall surrounding Shar'ram. There, Spock halted Brax and handed the children down from the saddle. T'Lynn dropped him a very pretty curtsy and beamed at him, then took the lamb from T'Preve, turned and ran off with her companions, all of them chattering eagerly.

"That was very generous, cousin," T'Preve said as they started through the gate complex into the stronghold courtyard.

Spock shrugged. "Brax wanted to do it," he answered.

She glanced over and smiled at him then said, "And thank you for our walk. It was very pleasant."

He nodded a bow in response. "By all means, cousin. I enjoyed it as well." He left her and led Brax toward the stables. T'Preve watched him go, a bemused expression on her face, then she turned and headed into the main hall.

Neither saw Stahl standing to one side of the courtyard, watching the couple with a darkening expression settling over his face. As Spock crossed near him, the big warrior strode toward him with a purposeful step and blocked his path.

"What were you doing with her?" he demanded.

Spock drew up in surprise, only just managing not to blurt out, _You're back!_ He hadn't expected the warrior to return so soon. Instead, resentful of Stahl's accusatory tone, he answered shortly, "Walking."

"Walking where?"

Spock's brows lowered dangerously. "Walking from the meadow with a _hox_ , fourteen children and a _paran_ lamb in tow. Or isn't that enough chaperonage for you?"

Stahl glared at him. "I give you fair warning," he ground out in a low, threatening voice. "Stay away from her. Or, sword bearer or no, you'll be sorry you ever set foot in Shar'ram!"

He spun and marched away before Spock could think of a suitable answer, leaving the Vulcan fuming in anger.


	13. Chapter 13

**_Four months prior..._ **

Stefin was in an exceptionally bad mood when he rode his _hox_ back through the gates of D'Khahl Holding. A quarrel had broken out between his troops and those of the Sekani commander, a quarrel that had quickly dissolved into a full-fledged fight. When the men were finally separated and lashed into compliance by their sergeants, the ringleaders had been hauled up before Stefin and Stakkan. The Sekani soldiers accused the D'Khahlis of cheating them over a captured woman. Instead of the men taking their due pleasures with her, the D'Khahli soldiers had killed her after they had grown tired of her and then thrown her lifeless body into the Sekani camp with a great deal of hilarity and obscene commentary. The Sekanis had taken offense and the fight ensued.

Neither Stefin nor Stakkan was amused at this and all the men involved were dragged away to be scourged for their parts in the melee. The D'Khahli mastermind of the incident was executed by Stefin's own hand before the gathered troops as a warning that there would be no more similar episodes.

It had set Stefin into a sour disposition for the remainder of the day. Now, as he dismounted his weary _hox_ in the courtyard and turned the beast over to a groomsman, the D'Khahli Holder was seething inside. Last-meal was awaiting him in the main hall, but he merely seized a goblet of wine and stamped his way up the main staircase to his chambers, growling, "Wife, attend me!" as he went.

T'Kaela dutifully followed him, sensing his anger and quailing at what sort of evening must surely be awaiting her. When she quietly entered their bedchamber and closed the door behind her, she found Stefin downing the last of the wine in the goblet and then pouring himself more from the beaker on the sideboard.

She stood quietly as Stefin stripped off his blood-spattered tunic and threw it on the floor, then poured water from a ewer into a bowl and began washing blood and dirt from his hands. "Was it a hard day, my lord?" T'Kaela ventured softly, deciding to see how bad her evening would be.

"They are all hard," Stefin snarled laconically. "I am surrounded by fools and incompetents." He turned to look at her for the first time.

T'Kaela was standing just inside the doorway, clad in a long, low-cut gown, the type of clothing he forced her to wear. The tight bodice accentuated her lush bosom and he could plainly see the outlines of her nipples underneath the fabric.

The act of the bloody execution that afternoon, coupled with the sight of T'Kaela's inviting body, served to arouse him. He needed an outlet for his aggression, either in more violence or in sex. Possibly in both. And that, after all, was what his wife was for. To serve him in any way he desired.

He straightened and reached for a towel to dry his hands then said, "Come here."

She did, walking slowly toward him. As she came within arm's reach, he seized her and pulled her to him, kissing her hard, forcing his tongue into her mouth. His hand went to her breast and covered it, massaging it roughly.

She squirmed and tried to pull away, for he was hurting her. It only spurred him on. Grasping the front of her gown, he ripped downward, tearing the sheer fabric open then he bent and moved from one breast to the other, sucking her into his mouth, biting her nipples to make her cry out.

Again, she tried to shove him away, but he had her bent back over the sideboard and her feet were barely touching the floor. Just when she was about to start fighting him in earnest, he abruptly lifted his head and grabbed her upper arm, spinning her around away from him. Before she could react to that, he shoved her forward at the waist and yanked her gown up out of the way, exposing her buttocks to his sight, even as he was using his other hand to open his breeches.

She knew instantly what he wanted and had barely set herself before he grasped her waist and mounted her, plunging his hard shaft deep into her. She wasn't ready for him and his huge erection slamming into her dry passage brought a cry of pain from her lips. He paid no attention to her, pumping again and again as deeply into her as he could. The feel of her tight, clinging interior excited him and he worked her even harder.

By the time he had brought himself to climax, she was fighting the involuntary tears of pain and humiliation that streamed down her cheeks. After his initial eruption, he continued to clasp her waist and thrust deep into her a few more times before he finally pulled out of her.

But the violence still lurked within him. The quick, hard coupling hadn't satisfied him and he stood behind her thinking about what he wanted to do next, when she unwisely looked around at him, frowning. "That hurt," she snapped. "If you wanted me, why didn't you wait until I was ready to take you?"

His face darkened with anger and his hand flew to grip her throat, just short of doing her real harm. "I take _you_ , woman — not the other way around! Anywhere and anytime I see fit! If you can't understand that, then I'll rid myself of you and find a woman who knows how to be silent and obedient and in her proper place — on her back with her legs apart!"

"Then do so!" she hissed, enraged. "Let _her_ deal with your perversions and filth! I never wanted to be here!"

The next instant, T'Kaela found herself on the floor, her face smarting from the blow he'd dealt her. "Do not talk back to me!" Stefin rumbled as he advanced on her. He bent and grabbed the tattered front of her dress, hauling her up bodily, then threw her on the bed. "Since you don't know how to be a proper wife, I'll teach you."

Roughly he stripped her, fending off her ineffectual blows with heavier slaps of his own, until he had her naked and subdued through pain. "Now, wife," he muttered as he quickly shed his own clothing and spread himself atop her once more. "You will service me as I require — silently, obediently and readily. And if you please me ... perhaps I will graciously allow you to live."

* * *

It was the custom at Shar'ram that on some evenings after last-meal, a time of entertainment was presented, sometimes storytelling, sometimes singing, sometimes a dance. On occasions a court fool would juggle various objects, or a visiting troop of actors would perform a saga. Most of the time, however, the offerings were simple and done by the people who lived in the fortress. They served to bring the family together and close the day on a joyful note.

Inevitably, one evening Spock was called upon for a story. He demurred, saying he was no storyteller but the company insisted, refusing to allow him to back away. Finally, he gave in and moved to a seat by the hearth where he sat in deep thought for a few moments, searching for a suitable tale to tell. As he did, the family's children came and settled around him, the better to hear the story.

He thought of various stories he had read as a child, both human and Vulcan, but they all took place so much later in history than this, he was afraid they would be incomprehensible to these people. Searching farther back in time, he landed upon a scrap of a legend that had been passed down through his family and that seemed appropriate here. He began:

"The story I tell you is a true one. It is about a man named S'Kar. Through his line, there arose a great teacher, Surak, and from his line arose my great-grandparents, the Holder Salkar and his wife, T'Pau, and their son Skon, and his son Sarek, who is my father. The family line rolls unbroken far back into the mists of time. There are Tellers who can recite the Tell all the way back to S'Kar. Of the lives of our ancestors, much has been lost to us because of the amount of time to be Told, but this much is known and handed down, that we not forget.

"S'Kar was a child of war, a refugee from a Great House that had fallen to invading armies in his homeland. He was a magical child from birth, blessed by the Goddess Heya in the womb. No one knows who his father was. The legend only says that he came from the desert, sired S'Kar upon a princess of the House, then disappeared once more, never to be seen again. His name is not even remembered. The princess was called T'Riffa and she was the daughter of the Householder, his only child. And, as in all legends, she was wise and brave and beautiful."

There was a tittering of appreciative laughter at that, which made Spock smile as well. He continued, "S'Kar's beginning came when the land was being ripped apart by a fierce war. Perhaps his father was merely a warrior of her father's house, lost in the fighting, and that was his sole moment of importance to anyone. But started S'Kar was and at a time when the populations of Holdings and Houses were being destroyed or fleeing into the hills or deserts.

"There was a great, evil warlord from another province who was terrorizing the countryside, much as the army of D'Khahl is doing now. Legend only knows this warlord as the Usurper. He was blood-thirsty and cruel and led his warriors on terrible raids against the Great Houses. One by one they fell until finally only the House of Princess T'Riffa stood. The Usurper attacked that, too, and such was the strength of his army that he overran and took it for his own.

"T'Riffa barely escaped with her life and that of her unborn child. She fled into the high hills south of Sas-a-Shar and hid there with a companion-protector, a young man whom she eventually married. S'Kar was born while _le'matyas_ prowled and _sehlats_ roared and their spirits infused him. He grew to manhood in the wilderness, armed with their fierceness and cunning. His bondfather trained him as well in all the arts of warfare and strategy and, when S'Kar reached the age of manhood, he also gave him a weapon. It was the sword of S'Kar's father, which the bondfather had kept for him.

"Once armed, S'Kar came down from the hills and raised an army of the people suppressed and held in servitude by the Usurper. He led them into a war of vengeance and reclamation and eventually routed the invaders from his House. For it _was_ his House now. He was the son of the daughter of the Holder, his grandfather, whom the invaders had put to death in the final battle of the Holding's fall many years before. The seat of judgment was rightfully S'Kar's and he claimed his right. The countryside had fallen into such lawlessness and barbarism that it took S'Kar many years to bring it under control, but he was a strong and wise ruler and eventually the land knew peace again. And the legend says that he ruled to a great old age and sired many sons and daughters."

Spock fell silent and, after a moment of expectant silence, spread his hands and said, "That is the end of the story."

"What happened to the princess?" asked a little boy who was sitting rapt beside him.

Spock looked down at him and shook his head. "I do not know. The legend does not tell us. Perhaps S'Kar brought her back to her old home and established her there in honor."

"Oh, I hope so," responded another child, a little girl. "I think it would be too sad if the princess did not get to come home."

"I'll bet the _sehlats_ ate her," spoke up a slightly older boy. This remark garnered loud protests from the other children and he backed off defensively. "Well, I'll still bet they did. Whoever heard of anyone living in the wilderness for that long without getting eaten?"

"It is not unheard of," Spock answered. There was dissent once more from his audience but he insisted. "Have you never heard of anyone choosing to live as a recluse or hermit? It would be a constant testing of one's self, but I would not count it as impossible. It would be like always enduring the rite of _kahs'wan_."

There was puzzled silence as the youngsters exchanged glances with each other. "What?" asked one.

"What's _kahs'wan_?" questioned another.

Spock looked up to search the faces of the adults present but their expressions were just as uncomprehending as the children. "You do not know the ritual of _kahs'wan_? The testing of a boy in his seventh year in which he goes for ten days into the desert?"

Anskar spoke up, "Why would anyone expose their sons to that sort of danger, Spock? When too few survive into adulthood as it is? Your people have very strange customs!"

"Yes, forgive me," Spock answered, taken by surprise but then understanding the logic of it. _Kahs'wan_ had developed because of the feeling that Surak's Reforms had sapped the strength and ingenuity from the Vulcan people. That, while logic and emotional control had led them into a golden age of scientific and cultural achievement, their proud heritage of invincibility and resourcefulness had diminished accordingly. The testing and passage into manhood maintained that heritage. But it was not needed here, in this time period. Life was hard enough and children were a precious commodity to a family. They would not be sacrificed to a symbolic ritual simply to prove they could survive. They proved _that_ by living to adulthood.

A teenage boy sitting at one of the wooden tables still littered with last-meal dishes and remains brought the subject back to the story. "What Holding was it that fell?"

"I do not know the name," Spock replied although again he knew that he was frankly lying. He _did_ know the name of the Holding. It was Shar'ram. Legend clearly stated that it had fallen to invaders. The eroded ruins that brooded above the modern city of ShiKahr testified to its fall, but when? There was no date attached to the incident so he had no way of verifying the truth of the myth. In fact, when he'd first remembered of the legend of S'Kar, his immediate thought was that the story spoke of his present circumstance. But then he dismissed it. Shar'ram still stood in this time period and the few facts he knew from the legend didn't fit his current situation. The Holder Anskar had no daughters, only four grown sons who had their own Houses to rule, thus no princess to be mother of the near-mythical S'Kar.

Stahl had been sitting across the room, T'Preve by his side. She'd gone back into the tense wariness she always seemed to affect when her pledge-mate was around. But he was paying little attention to her at the moment. In a scoffing tone, he called out, "So, that's the best story you can make up, is it?" He looked around at his cohorts with a sly expression. "You men come to my chambers later. I'll tell you a tale about a woman and a man from the desert that will bring the Madness down upon you!" He laughed raucously at his joke and his men joined in, while T'Preve looked down in embarrassment and blushed.

The remark killed Spock's good mood and he felt outrage brewing within him for T'Preve's sake and the sake of the other women present. Stahl's crude reference to _pon farr_ was completely out of line, according to Spock's sensibilities. One simply did not speak of such a thing openly and in mixed company. It was too private and personal a thing, too devastating to the psyche and the soul, although a necessary thing in Vulcan life.

Still, he was uncertain about speaking up. There were many things in this culture that shocked and offended his 23rd century mores, but which went without comment here. Privacy was a rare thing and taboos that were iron-clad in his world had no meaning at all here. Perhaps this was one of them. Instead of taking Stahl to task, he stood up and said, "I'm sorry. I don't know any more of the story. That's all of it I ever learned." He turned and nodded in Anskar's direction. "I believe I shall retire now, _sai_ , with your permission."

"Of course, Spock. Good sleep to you. And thank you for your story," the Holder replied.

Spock turned to go but was stopped for an instant. T'Preve had raised her head slightly and was staring at him in such mute appeal that he almost found himself starting across the room to her aide. But then Stahl slid an arm possessively around the woman's shoulders and turned his haughty, challenging gaze directly on the other man, daring him to come their way. Spock steeled himself, bowed slightly to the company of his clan, and walked from the hall toward his sleeping alcove.

* * *

The stately Vulcan steepled her fingers and gazed with implacable calm across the conference table at Kirk. "There is no mistake, Captain Kirk," she repeated. "We have thoroughly checked our records and cross-checked it with birth records in ShiKahr. There is no one named 'Spock' in the current generation of the Ni'ikhirch family structure."

"That's impossible!" Kirk exploded, unable to rein in his frustration and worry.

T'Lon lifted a delicate eyebrow at him. "Would you care to check it for yourself? We have traced the Ni'ikhirch clan for the past two thousand years. The last person to bear that name was Spock cha'Selkin 153 years ago."

"But how can that be? He's the great-grandson of T'Pau and the son of Ambassador Sarek. He's the family's heir, for Pete's sake!"

The Vulcans present exchanged glances. "Pete?" responded one of them, puzzled.

Kirk waved it away. "Just a human expression."

T'Lon ignored it. " _Ambassador_ Sarek, you say? Ambassador to what?"

"Earth, of course!"

"Captain, the ambassador to Earth currently is Soton hei-Kh'd'Elakil." She turned and played her fingertips across a small keypad, causing the computer screen display to change. "There _is_ a Sarek listed here, son of Skon, grandson of T'Pau, but he is not nor has he ever been any sort of ambassador. He is employed as a computer expert in the Ministry of Trade."

Kirk leaned closer. "But doesn't it show his offspring? Surely Spock is there."

T'Lon zoomed in the screen closer. "Sarek is the father of three children ... a son, Sybok, by his first wife, now dead. Two daughters, T'Pas and T'Arla, by his present wife."

The captain was shaking his head. "That can't be. Sarek and Amanda only had one child ... Spock."

"Who, Captain?" the historian questioned.

"Sarek's wife. Amanda Grayson."

"His wife is named T'Bel, Captain. I do not know of anyone called 'Amanda Grayson'. This is a Human name."

Kirk was feeling the ground opening wider and wider beneath him as he sank into a quagmire of fear and hopelessness. "Yes. Sarek married a Human woman whom he met while posted to Earth. Spock was the first Human/Vulcan child ever born that lived to adulthood. It was quite a feat of medical accomplishment."

He turned away, ignoring the shocked and affronted expressions on the Vulcans' faces. The other three exchanged soft, astounded comments in Vulcan, but T'Lon, to her credit, kept her astonishment to herself. No doubt she was as staggered as the others by such an indecent thought — a Vulcan and a _Human_ mated! — but was diplomatic enough not to show it.

"I'm sorry, Captain Kirk," she said, standing, her veils draping lightly around her tall form. "Obviously, whatever your Spock did in the past changed his own future completely. In the world we know, the clan of Ni'ikhirch is a very minor one in Seleyan politics. It has few members and those are not noted for any accomplishments worthy of mention."

Kirk was standing beside the window that looked out over the ancient ruins of the city. In the distance, he could just see the Guardian rising bright among the grayness. T'Lon moved over to join him. "We _have_ managed to narrow our search to a critical area. We believe that the Battle of Seleya in 4583 ... our calendar, not yours ... is the pivotal event. We will concentrate our search of the records there and attempt to isolate your first officer and Dr. S'Von."

When Kirk did not respond, T'Lon did the very un-Vulcan thing of reaching up and laying her hand on his shoulder. "Do not give up hope, Captain. We may yet be able to find them and bring them back to our world."

"But which world?" Kirk murmured, almost to himself. "A world in which Spock never lived? Or the world where he belongs ... and you don't?"


	14. Chapter 14

**_Three months prior..._ **

It dawned on Stefin partway through evenmeal that T'Kaela was unusually quiet, something remarkable considering how silent she was in any case. But tonight she was even more pensive and withdrawn, almost huddled in on herself. She didn't touch her food and responded meekly to any comment he made to her. He eyed her suspiciously and saw that her face was pale and drawn-looking and wondered if she might have fallen ill.

Well, that was something she would do, he thought pettily. It would be just her style to take sick as he was about to leave on campaign and would most likely pass her sickness onto him.

"What's wrong with you?" he demanded, as if his thoughts had escaped to be voiced aloud.

She looked up at him and he saw that there were dark circles under her eyes. "I beg pardon, my lord," she answered softly. "I do not feel well this evening. I have no appetite."

"Go to your chambers then," he ordered gruffly. "You spoil _my_ appetite sitting there like a sick _paran_. Get out!"

"Yes, my lord." Almost gratefully, she rose from the table and left the main hall.

He watched her go, then turned back to his meal and commanded more wine be brought to him by his twin slave girls. He pulled one of them onto his lap and held her there, groping her breasts as he traded jests with his fellow Holder, Stakkan, who had effectively moved into D'Khahl with his army.

"Take the other one, Stakkan," he grinned, placing a boot against the other girl's rump and shoving her toward the portly man. "Might as well have your just desserts!" Stefin roared in laughter at his own bad joke and Stakkan joined in.

"Stefin, you're drunk," Stakkan accused as he pulled the proffered girl to him.

"Not too drunk, my friend," the Holder answered. "If I were too drunk, I wouldn't have the sword to sink into T'Klinda's tight little sheath now, would I? Would I, my dear?" he asked, turning his attention to the girl on his lap.

"No, my lord," she answered softly, squirming in delight as he provocatively pumped his hips up a few times to emphasize his point.

"Then turn 'round here and kiss me as I've taught you," he murmured. The slave girl moved to straddle Stefin's lap, slipping her arms around his neck and leaning down to press her lips against his mouth. He pushed his tongue between her teeth and pulled her firmly against him, devouring her, his arousal growing, oblivious to the other people in the hall.

S'Von watched Stefin coolly through half-closed lids, the Holder's debauchery filling him with disgust. When the evening's activities showed signs of turning into a full-fledged orgy, the sorcerer could abide it no longer. He rose and bowed before his master, asking to be excused. Stefin waved him away, preoccupied with his entertainment.

Glad to be away from the main hall, S'Von climbed the stairs to the upper chambers but at the portal of his own room, he made the decision to look in on T'Kaela while Stefin was still involved below. Her waiting woman let him in, for he had become a frequent visitor by now, and he found the Telapuli woman curled up on her bed.

"My dear," S'Von exclaimed, his concern holding a touch of sincerity. "You did not tell me you had become ill."

"I am not ill with sickness, my lord," she answered, sitting up on the side of the bed. "I am ill with child." Her expression was bleak.

"A child! This _is_ good news!"

She glared at him. "How can you say that? It is the child of abduction and rape. You know that! I hate it. I hate Stefin! If I knew how to rid myself of both, I would do so!"

S'Von was taken aback, despite himself. He had never heard T'Kaela speak with such fury and he truly believed her capable of anything at that moment. He sought to calm her. "You must not speak so, my dear lady. It will only infuriate Lord Stefin to hear such things. I do believe that he will treat you kinder now as you bear him an heir."

"I no longer care," she answered grimly. "Go away. I am tired and wish to sleep." She pulled her sleeping gown about her and hugged herself, as if cold.

S'Von bowed to her in deference and was turning toward the door, when a commotion in the hall pulled him up short. Stefin was outside the door and the sorcerer was suddenly consumed with fear, for he had no doubt that the Holder would kill him in a jealous rage if he found him in T'Kaela's bed chamber.

She was evidently thinking the same thing, for she stared at him in dread and motioned him toward the curtained alcove that held the chamber's bathing area. S'Von hurried through the curtains and hid himself in the shadows there.

He had barely made it when Stefin, drunk from the wine he had consumed, barged into the bed chamber. "Get out!" he ordered the waiting woman and slammed the door behind her. Then he turned to where T'Kaela still sat on the bed. "Ah, wife, how considerate of you to be ready for me!"

Defiantly, she rose to her feet. "I am no more ready tonight than I ever am," she responded coldly. "I don't feel well tonight, Stefin. Why don't you go bed one of your servant girls?" She turned and started to walk away.

Roughly, he reached out and grabbed her arm, yanking her back to face him. "I _have_ bedded the servant girls and now it's your turn!" He pulled her to him and covered her mouth with his, kissing her brutally.

She squirmed away. "Stop! You smell like sour wine!"

"You'll smell like more than that soon," he sneered contemptuously and threw her across the bed. "When I'm done, you'll reek of the wine I'm about to pour into you." He unbuckled his dagger belt and let it drop to the floor, then pulled his tunic over his head and tossed it away.

She had learned that it was futile to resist him. He would only beat her then take her anyway. So she lay watching him as unlaced his breeches and freed his aroused manhood.

The sight of it filled her with disgust and she began to squirm away from him. Abruptly, he seized her gown and pulled it apart, baring her pale body to his scrutiny. "You're putting on a little weight, aren't you, my dear?" he leered as he climbed atop her. "I like a nice soft cushion, you know."

She glared at him with loathing. "I'm pregnant," she answered tersely.

That halted him for a moment, then he grinned nastily. "Are you now? All the more reason to celebrate tonight, eh?" He fell across her, pinning her to the bed, and began kissing her roughly again.

She tried to shove him away, to avoid his wine-stained mouth. "Get off me! You turn my stomach!"

"Oh, no, not until we have thoroughly celebrated your happy news," he answered and gripped her face between his hands, planting his lips hard on hers. At the same time, she felt his mind clumsily and roughly attempting to meld with hers. Having him in her body was bad enough. Having him in her mind was more than she could take.

Revolted, she dug in her nails and slashed them down the side of his face, taking skin and blood with them. He jerked back with a cry then gingerly touched his fingers to his cheek, staring in disbelief at the green liquid that stained his hand. His shock quickly turned to anger and, exploding with rage, he backhanded her hard, nearly knocking her senseless.

It wasn't enough to assuage his fury. He slapped her again and again, then dragging her to her feet, he slammed his balled fist full into her face, sending her crashing to the floor, blood spurting from her broken nose. "You _seehn_ bitch," he hissed at her. "How dare you defy me!"

He aimed a kick at her which she managed to avoid, rolling away from him, then, thoroughly frightened, she tried to scramble out of his reach. "Oh, no," he said through clenched teeth. "I'm not finished with you yet!"

He tackled her and fell hard upon her, not caring that his weight landed full on her abdomen. Pinning her, he shoved her legs apart and with one hard, savage thrust, he buried himself in her, hilt-deep. She screamed but he slapped a hand over her mouth and savagely pounded into her, deliberately being as brutal as possible, enjoying the cries of pain she was unable to suppress each time his pelvis impacted against hers.

The thrill of it drove him quickly to climax and he slammed into her one final time, pouring his contempt into her along with his seed. When he had finished, he rose and glared down at her in disgust. "I don't know why I wanted you in the first place," he spat. "I should throw you to the troops and let them use you as a relief woman!" Still seething, he drew back and kicked her in the side. "Get out of my sight!" Turning away from her, he shoved his spent manhood back into his breeches and walked to the sideboard where he poured himself a goblet of wine.

On the floor, T'Kaela dragged herself into a sitting position and glared at his back, blood from her nose still streaming down her face. Shaking with rage and pain, she tried to get to her feet but couldn't seem to make her muscles work. A sharp stab inside her bruised torso told her that at least one of her ribs was broken and lower down, in her abdomen, there was another pain, a tight cramping pain that grew worse. Somehow she recognized what was happening and she knew that soon she would be wracked with the dreadful torment of bringing forth the infant he had killed within her.

Fury and hatred fueling her tortured body, T'Kaela spied the dagger lying in its sheath beside the bed and, before she could think, it was in her hand. With a strength born of insanity, she got to her feet and stumbled toward him.

Hearing her approach, Stefin turned back toward her, goblet in hand, surprised that she was so resilient. "Oh, do you need more—"

It was as far as he got, for by that time she had plunged the dagger into his side and twisted it into his beating heart. He gasped in shock and dropped the goblet from his suddenly nerveless fingers, clutching feebly at the knife still buried within him.

He stared in disbelief into her pale, bloodied face, her disarrayed black hair like a _le'matya_ 's mane around it, and wondered how he could have misjudged the extent of her outrage and ferocity. It was the last thought he had as she finally drew the dagger from his side and watched him crumple to the stone floor, dead.

From his hiding place, S'Von had been watching in horrified fascination the scene unfolding before him. Now he ventured forth and went to where T'Kaela was standing shakily over Stefin's body, the bloody knife still in her hand. She looked up at the sorcerer, the magnitude of what she had done beginning to register on her face, then her legs gave way beneath her and she sank to the floor.

"Get help," she whispered and for a second S'Von thought she was concerned about her husband. Then he saw that her torn gown was soaked with her own blood as she began to hemorrhage from the miscarriage.


	15. Chapter 15

T'Preve was dancing for him. Never mind that she was only one of a group of the family girls performing a dance routine for the people gathered in the main hall. As far as Spock was concerned, she dipped and swayed for him alone, moving sensuously to the music of drum and _ka'athyra_.

As his eyes followed her lithe form twisting and whirling, he found himself unable to tear his gaze away from her. Moreover, his breath began to come a little faster and his heart to beat a little harder. Suddenly, to his alarm, he realized that his body was responding to hers and, with a cold tremor of fear, he knew the only other time he had ever felt this way — when the _plak tow_ had overtaken him and he had undergone _pon farr_. That one time had been a hell he had barely endured, when his entire being had been consumed by a fire of sexuality and rage. In his civilized, logical world, it had nearly driven him to the brink of death with its furies. What it would be like here, in this barbaric and untamed timespan, was beyond his comprehension.

But then he realized that, while those same flames of sexual desire were just below the ignition point of a full-fledged conflagration, it didn't feel exactly that same as the _plak tow_. There was no incipient madness setting fire to his mind nor berserk rage consuming him. Instead, what he was feeling was a deepening ache in his chest and a hunger for the woman he watched, a rising tide of powerful emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

Finally the girls ended their dance with a whirl and a flourish, and their audience responded with loud enthusiasm. As they dispersed to their various tables, T'Preve cast an expectant glance in Spock's direction and a pleased little smile lifted the corners of her lips as she saw the obvious desire in his eyes.

But Stahl appeared beside her and took her arm, almost marching her over to the table where his lieutenants were sitting. He shoved her down onto the bench, then settled in beside her.

As he watched, Spock felt his emotions changing into a slowly simmering rage. Across the hall's space, Stahl hovered over T'Preve, monopolizing her conversation, clearly feeling very possessive of her although they weren't formally bonded yet. His show of dominance wasn't lost on Spock, who had barely tasted the bowl of stew before him. That it was _paran_ stew, with chunks of lean meat mixed in with the vegetables, hadn't seemed to register on him. Or else he had reverted to the point that he didn't care anymore. In any case, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the couple two tables away.

T'Preve appeared distinctly unhappy about Stahl's attentions but was enduring them because it was her duty as his betrothed. Still, Spock found himself closely watching her body language and was beginning to read it as one of disgust. As Stahl slid an arm around her shoulders, she flinched away and attempted to get up from the table. Roughly, he yanked her back down and bent his head close to her face, speaking to her in a low voice.

She regarded him disdainfully and he gave her a little shake as if to emphasize his point, then removed his arm and turned back to his platter of food. Glancing up, he caught Spock's gaze on them and asked loudly, "What are you looking at, stranger?"

Something in Spock bristled at the tone but he kept his voice even, "I am Family, _Sai_ Stahl. I am no stranger."

"You're a stranger to _me_ , _sai_ ," the other man answered defiantly. "Why do you watch me?"

"Why do you treat the lady so roughly?" Spock replied, his irritation growing despite his attempts at maintaining control.

Stahl threw his eating knife down on the table and leaned forward in a challenging manner. "What business is that of yours? She is _mine_ , therefore I treat her as I will."

The hall had quieted and all eyes were on them now. T'Preve had begun looking a bit fearful and her gaze swung back and forth between the two men.

"A betrothal does not make her your chattel," Spock answered, his voice hard.

" _Doesn't_ it?" Stahl retorted and stood up, his stance full of menace.

Spock came to his feet as well, staring back unblinking at the other. Stahl grasped the hilt of the sword by his side and Spock did likewise, prepared to draw.

"Enough!" Anskar snapped from the head table. "Spock, sit down! You, too, Stahl! I will not tolerate this quarreling!"

Both men continued to glare at one another for a long moment, then with an effort Spock turned away and faced the Holder. "Lord, I beg your pardon. I find that my appetite for evenmeal was less than I thought. I ask permission to go now and check on my _hox_ before I retire."

"Granted," Anskar replied. "Pleasant night to you, cousin."

Spock made a cursory bow to the Holder and the others present, fixed Stahl with a stony look, and exited the hall. Marching out into the cool evening air of the courtyard, he took a deep breath and managed to get himself under control, wondering at his actions. Why had he become so enraged at Stahl's treatment of T'Preve and then of his challenging words? Stahl was correct. His relationship with his betrothed was none of Spock's business. But he couldn't stand the way the warrior handled the young woman and he was rapidly losing patience with the man's belligerent jealousy. But the persistent logical little voice inside him reminded Spock that the man was a seasoned soldier, bigger and more experienced than he. To let his surging emotions take control would be the height of foolishness.

Resolving to stay away from Stahl and his touchy temper, Spock went down to check on Brax and spend some time with him. The animal seemed pleased to see him and rubbed his big head against his master's torso. Spock stroked the _hox_ between the eyes and scratched a couple of spots around Brax's ears that he seemed to know were itchy, and promised him, "I'll bring you a sweetrind tomorrow if I can. You like those, don't you?" Brax made a purring noise deep in his throat and butted Spock with his head. "Okay, I'll bring two. Will that please you?" Brax purred again and closed his big dark eyes in contentment.

The time with Brax calmed Spock considerably as he rested his cheek against the animal's warm, sturdy neck and listened to the muffled rumbling deep in the _hox_ 's throat. His senses wrapped themselves in the serenity of his surroundings — the sounds of the animals moving lazily in their stalls, the soft champ of jaws working at grinding grain, the odors of _hox_ and fragrant straw and harness oil, the tactile sensation of silken hide gliding over hot, firm muscle — all combined into a peaceful environment. There was an elemental happiness that he felt from Brax, without complication, something Spock had never known before. Man and _hox_ were one in their contentment.

After a time, Spock straightened and stroked his hand down the length of Brax's neck, ending in a playful tug on the long silver mane. He was turning to go back to the Holding when the _hox_ pricked his ears toward the door and snorted. Spock was surprised to see T'Preve slip in through the door, looking back as if to check on whether anyone had followed her. After a moment, she turned and scanned the stable interior then came rapidly to the stall where _hox_ and rider stood.

The stable was dark at this time of evening but still, as she reached them, she drew Spock around on the other side of Brax, so that the _hox_ stood between them and the doorway, shielding them from view. Then she spoke in a whisper, "I came to warn you."

"About what?" he answered, lowering his voice as she motioned for him to speak quietly.

"I overheard Stahl talking with his lieutenants," she responded. "He's decided to teach you a lesson."

Spock's eyebrows lifted in surprise at that. "Indeed? That may prove more difficult than he knows."

"Spock, he'll kill you if he can. Don't provoke him. He's very dangerous."

"I won't run and hide from him, T'Preve," he answered and felt the anger of earlier that evening beginning to build again in him.

She closed her eyes for a moment and then looked back at him pleadingly. "Spock, I know him. He's killed many men in combat and duel. He won't hesitate to kill one more."

He was silent for a moment then asked her, "And you would bond with a man like that?"

"I have no choice. Don't you understand?"

"No, I don't understand."

She looked saddened. "He told you the truth at evenmeal. I _am_ his chattel. Before his death, my father gave me to Stahl to settle a debt of honor. He has not yet wed or bedded me because he plans to wait until the spring at Life Feast when the new planting begins, so that fertility will be assured." Her mouth compressed grimly. "He intends to 'plant' me, too, you see. I'm to bear him many sons."

Spock was appalled. The vision that sprang into his mind of Stahl with T'Preve, brutal and uncaring, using her merely as an object to satisfy his lusts and further his ambitions, sent his emotions seething with rage and jealousy. And then the anger in him really did explode into hatred for the other man.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had reached up and grasped T'Preve by her shoulders, pulling her against him. "No!" he whispered hoarsely, painfully, like a man seeing his last hope for salvation fade away. " _No!_ He _will_ have to kill me before I allow _that_." And then he was kissing her, hard, his arms sliding around her slim, warm body. For a second, she stood rigid in surprise, and then she was returning it, hungrily, desperately, her arms going around him, clutching him as if her life depended on it. Loneliness and desire and an overwhelming need for one another poured out through the frantically deepening kiss, a wellspring of emotions colliding in this dizzying moment of revelation.

But then she broke the kiss, pushing him away. "No ... no, Spock," she breathed with a sob. "We can't! He would kill us both! Please, just be careful of him." And with that, she spun and ran out into the night, clutching her cloak around her.

Spock leaned against Brax's side, a bit dazed at what had just occurred. The _hox_ eyed him knowingly and made a peremptory little sound. Spock shook his head and slapped him on the shoulder. "Yes ... I will," he promised absently and left the stall where the big animal stood watching him. Brax snorted in answer and stamped one foot in frustration.

Spock paid him no heed. He was confused, physically tired and emotionally drained as he made his way back across the dark courtyard and into the main hall. Last-meal had broken up and kitchen women were clearing away the leavings, pushing the tables back against the walls to make sleeping room for those who bedded down before the hearth.

Wearily, Spock ignored them as he crossed the room and went into the back halls to his sleeping alcove. A tremendous burden he neither wanted nor understood had been placed on his shoulders by virtue of the sword he carried and now his outburst of emotion with T'Preve had complicated matters. He had enough to think about without adding a feud with Stahl on top of it.

Closing off the curtains, he undressed then knelt on his mattress and attempted for a time to meditate. But the whirl of thoughts and passions consuming him prevented him from clearing his mind and he finally gave up, crawling between the blankets of his bed. The straw mattress beneath his bedroll caressed his tired body and he turned over onto his side, falling quickly asleep.

He had been asleep for some time when he suddenly woke, aware that the curtain had moved back and someone had slipped through it. Spock did not stir, listening intently, analyzing the situation. For a moment there was silence, then he reached quietly for the dagger he kept close at hand.

"No, Spock. It's only me," came a soft, feminine murmur.

He propped himself up on one elbow and stared at the dark figure. "What are you doing here?" he whispered back. "Have you lost your mind?"

"Please ... don't scold me," she breathed in answer. "I ... I had to ask you something."

"What?" he demanded.

She stood silent for a moment. "Did you mean what you said tonight in the stable?"

He didn't answer for what seemed like a long time, sorting through all the forces at work here. Then he answered solemnly, "Yes. I meant it."

He heard her sigh. "I prayed that you did. I've been lying awake since I went to bed and the longer I lay there, the more I knew that I ... I couldn't bear it any longer." Her voice trembled as she stood in the dark. "I want you, Spock. With every fiber of my being. I _need_ you... Oh, Goddess, you're all I've thought about since the day you arrived here." Her voice trailed off in a little tremor.

"T'Preve..." he said helplessly, at a loss for words.

"Please, Spock, if you won't have me, just let me share your bed tonight," she murmured. "Let me be close to you for a few hours."

He said nothing, not trusting his dry throat to answer. His heart was pounding wildly and he was beginning to feel a puzzling urgency deep within himself at the thought of her lithe body beside him. The fire he had felt as he watched her dance had sprung to life again and he found that he had no desire to quell its heat. But there was more to it than that, an emptiness inside that ached for her, a gaping void that had ripped through his soul the moment he had held her in his arms and drunk in the incredible sweetness of her lips. It yawned in him now, growing ever deeper, and he finally knew that he could not send her away.

She stood waiting expectantly, her own breathing a little ragged and fast, and he silently pulled back the blanket in consent and lay waiting for her. She gave a soft little sound of relief and, with quivering fingers, began to unlace her chemise. As he watched, his heart pulsing quick and hard, she let the garment slip from her shoulders to the floor. Then, clad only in her long black hair, she slid between the blankets beside him.

The heat of her body pressed along the length of his was nearly more than he could stand and he was forced to close his eyes and labor to take control of his emotions. The sensations she evoked were fast eroding the disciplines he had always practiced and the untamed appetites of his ancestors were surging within him. He couldn't tell if she was broadcasting her need to him, or whether what he was feeling came from the depths of his own soul. Or if both were reverberating with echoed and shared desire.

Her voice was soft as she snuggled against him, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder and slipping her fingertips lightly across the firm muscles of his bare chest. "I've wanted you from the moment I saw you. I can't explain it but I've felt as if we were meant for each other, as if we were bonded together long ago and now you've come back to me. Then tonight I knew for sure ... I will _never_ marry Stahl. I don't care what I have to do, but I'll be free of him. Because I knew tonight that I love you, Spock. I love you more than life itself."

His fingers tightened almost convulsively on the blanket as her words gripped his heart. Was _that_ the strange hollowness he felt when he looked at her? When the memory of the scent of her skin or the sound of her laughter refused to leave him as he lay alone at night? When he felt her absence most acutely?

His resolve crumbling to dust, he turned on his side toward her and took her in his arms, pulling her close. She was warm and eager in his embrace and her soft breath caressed his mouth as she turned her face up to his. Touching his fingertips to her temple and cheek, he opened his thoughts to her and felt her mind reaching out to his in return, ripe with a passion that wound about him and dissolved any hesitation he might still possess. There was a completeness here, a fulfillment that nearly staggered him in the precision of it all. Their souls fit together perfectly, each one complementing the other, the balance of male and female meshing together into one being, one psyche.

Unable to contain his emotions any longer, he surrendered to the chasm in his heart and to the one thing that could fill it. "T'Preve..." he whispered and their lips came together in the darkness, their minds melding together into consummate fusion, establishing a link that opened electric currents of excitement between them. Verbal speech was no longer necessary as they joined together in a glorious mixture of mind and body. For the rest of the night, they spoke an ancient language of bonding hearts and impassioned union, of twining thoughts and melding souls.


	16. Chapter 16

**_Three months prior..._ **

T'Kaela t'cha'Supak aduna'Stefin hei-Kh'd'Khahl died in the black hours of the morning, along with her stillborn daughter. The healers and the priestesses were powerless to stop the bleeding, either internal or external, and at last stood by helplessly as the unfortunate young woman slipped into a coma and ceased to breathe.

The body of her murdered husband had been removed from the bed chamber and taken to be prepared for cremation. She would soon follow him, although it was decided that they not be burned together, both because of her crime of homicide and because many felt it was justified for his abuse and cruelty to her.

S'Von had retired to his chambers almost at once and had spent the night frantically working on a plan to salvage the deteriorating situation. Stefin had left no heir, but there were several of his military commanders who would leap at the chance for power. They must be dealt with swiftly and decisively. The crisis was compounded by the fact that Stakkan was in residence with his army and would welcome a chance to add D'Khahl to his own lands. He likewise must be neutralized and power settled firmly on S'Von's shoulders.

Briskly, the sorcerer finalized his plans and moved to put them into immediate action. Retrieving a hand phaser from the locked chest where he stored his weapons, he checked its charge and left his chambers to go in search of Stakkan and any others would might endanger his power base.

With purposeful step, S'Von made his way to the guest chambers at the end of the hallway. One of Stakkan's men stood guard outside and came to attention at the sight of the approaching sorcerer. S'Von vaporized him before he finished his challenge. Then, pushing open the door, he found the portly Holder in bed, twisting to stare in outrage at whomever was disturbing his sport. S'Von caught a glimpse of one of the twins beside him.

"What's the meaning of this?! S'Von — what is this—?"

With icy deliberation, S'Von pointed the phaser at the couple and pulled the trigger. So high was the setting on the weapon that the entire bed disappeared in a burst of energy, along with Stakkan and the unlucky girl.

Completely expressionless, the sorcerer turned and left the room, moving on to his next destination.

Sixteen died that night before S'Von was finished with his bloody work.

Dawn found the new leader of D'Khahl astride his big black _hox_ , on a hilltop before the assembled armies massed on the plains around the stronghold. He had dressed carefully, making sure that he presented as imposing a sight as possible, and now he waited, mail shining in the bloody light of the rising sun, long cape snapping in the morning breeze, and phaser rifle resting prominently in view of all.

He purposefully sat silent until the men quieted in restless anticipation, turning their attention to him. Then he spoke in a loud, carrying voice. "Stefin is dead! He was murdered last night in a coup attempt by Stakkan and a group of warriors who were intent on taking control of D'Khahl Holding. Stefin's wife, T'Kaela, was beaten and raped and died giving birth to a stillborn child. All those who were responsible for this reprehensible action have been executed!"

A shocked murmur swept through the company spread out before him, then quieted again as he continued. "Stakkan was the force behind this conspiracy! But—" He was forced to raise his voice even more as D'Khahli soldiers turned accusingly to Sekanis. "— _hear me!_ — _but_ do not turn the blame on your allies! They are not responsible for Stakkan's actions! He has been apprehended and executed as have the guilty parties on both sides!" He paused until the muttering died down again. "As Stefin would have wanted, I have taken the Holding of D'Khahl and am in command of this army! We will carry on with the campaign we have gathered for — _the taking of Seleya!_ "

He thrust the phaser rifle into the air and immediately the host roared back in acclamation. S'Von waited until the cheering had died away, then continued, "Tonight we burn Stefin and T'Kaela upon their funeral pyres! Tomorrow we march! _To Seleya and victory!_ "

* * *

The faint chill breath of morning air made Spock come abruptly awake and realize that T'Preve was snuggled against him, asleep in his arms. They had not intended that she still be here in his bed, for the danger of her being found here was enormous. But the sweet fatigue following their lovemaking had lulled them both into slumber and their bonding the night before made them loathe to be parted from one another. Even now, as he gazed down on her beautiful face so near to his, he could scarcely bear the thought of her leaving. She had filled the emptiness in his soul like nothing he had ever known and he knew that their minds and hearts had joined into one during the night.

But soon the fortress would be stirring as the inhabitants began to rise in their early morning activities — taking care of morning hygiene, getting the fires started, preparing firstmeal. T'Preve must be back in her own chambers well before anyone else arose.

Gently, he stroked her temple and cheek, waking her. As she sleepily opened her eyes and peered up at him, he thought again that she was the most beautiful creature he'd ever beheld. She smiled and reached for him as she had the evening before, but, although he allowed her a warm embrace and a long, fervent kiss, he drew back from her while he knew he still could.

"You must get up now, _t'hy'la_ ," he whispered. "It's nearly morning. You must hurry."

"I don't want to leave you," she murmured back, still clinging to him.

He closed his eyes for a minute to steel himself. Goddess knew how much he wanted her to stay just where she was, how much the fire she had kindled within him demanded that he love her again. But it was impossible. Gently, he answered, "And I don't want you to, but you must. You know that."

She snuggled her head under his chin. "I know..." She lifted her face to his and they shared one final kiss before she rose from the warm security of his arms and hurriedly dressed in her chemise, sliding her feet into her slippers. He got up, too, and quickly pulled on his breeches and boots.

"What will you say if someone sees you?" he questioned her in a whisper.

"I'll tell them I had to go to the latrine and am on my way back to bed," she answered.

They embraced again, holding each other tightly, and he bent to kiss her once more. Then she forced herself to pull away from him. In the predawn darkness, she peeked out through the curtains, making sure that no one else was about, then glanced at him with a smile and was gone.

He stood for some time, listening intently, attempting to follow her progress to make sure she had made her way safely, but so quiet was her footfall that she might never have been there. After a while, he turned away and found his shirt, pulling it on over his head, then wrapped himself in his cloak and knelt in meditation on his mattress, turning his thoughts to the preparations for war that would occupy yet another day.

* * *

T'Preve slipped like a shadow through the back halls and up the servant stairs to the second floor. It was nearly pitch black in places, but she had lived in Shar'ram her entire life and knew its nooks and crannies with the intimacy of an inquisitive child. She had slipped from her chamber countless times as a girl and could still do so with a surety and silence that had seen her on numerous adventures.

But her mission tonight was returning to her own bed unseen. Her waiting woman, old T'Kaal, would be fast asleep. T'Preve had seen to that before she slipped out earlier. The hallway was silent except for the soft snores of sleeping people and the occasional creak of a mattress as someone rolled over into a new position.

Her door was cracked slightly ajar, just as she'd left it, and with a final glance, she slipped through into the dark room. T'Kaal muttered in her sleep then settled back down. T'Preve tip-toed across the room to her own bed and quietly crawled between the blankets.

Her bed was cold and empty-feeling after the blissful warmth of snuggling into Spock's arms. She could still feel him in her mind and knew that a mating bond had formed between them. For the first time, she understood the words she had heard others repeat at Joining rituals ... "parted from me and never parted, never and always touching and touched..." She had Joined with Spock mentally and physically, and from this day he would be with her, and she with him.

As much as the mental joining had fulfilled and delighted her, the physical had been just as sweet and painful and joyful. She lay for some time in the early morning darkness, identifying and marveling at the differences she now felt within herself. She had gone to him a barely grown girl and had been magically transformed by him into a woman and a bonded wife.

Their bonding meld had been magical. Although endowed with the innate telepathic ability that all Vulcans possessed, she had never experienced the indescribable sensation of uniting her thoughts with another. As soon as their minds had merged into one, she had known he was no novice, awkwardly fumbling in the corridors of her mind to find his way. With the surety and knowledge of a man fully experienced in such things, he had gently taken control of their meld and guided her through the intricacies of weaving their souls together. When it came to the physical aspects of their joining, he was more hesitant, not so assured, and they had walked together as he took her tenderly onto the path of womanhood.

They had clung to one another afterwards, drifting into sleep, sated with emotional release, and there in his arms she had dreamed a most strange and disturbing dream.

In a swirling green haze, she beheld something small and round and gelatinous, turning gently in the fog. Inside it, something moved, forming ranks, splitting and pulling apart and forming again. She had no idea what it was, having no reference by which to identify it. Then a faint line appeared across its surface, a line that deepened and dimpled the thing, cutting down through it. As she watched, it completed its task and suddenly there were two identical round things, side by side and still joined. The dance started again in the two new objects and they each divided again. Now there were four. Again, and there were eight.

She had awakened at that point to Spock's gentle summons, but in the manner of dreams, in the twilight instant between waking and sleep, her mind had leapt away down a long, shifting tunnel. Images and faces flashed by her in an incomprehensible blur. She only knew that suddenly things were changing away from the way they should be, were meant to be. Or perhaps it was just the opposite. Perhaps things were _right_ again.

But _something_ was changing. _She_ was changing. She could feel herself twisting out of sync with the world, the ground moving beneath her like sand slipping down the face of a dune. And yet, when she opened her eyes, everything was just as it had should have been, her cheek snuggled into Spock's shoulder, his arms around her, the glow of their lovemaking and mind meld still suffusing her.

And yet, the last strobe-flash image lingering in her mind before she woke was of Spock. Definitely her Spock, but different, not the man who had held her and loved her throughout the glorious night just ending. Clad in blue and black and golden stars, surrounded by lights and noises and odd-looking people, he stood like a god, serene and imperturbable, in a place of such strangeness that her mind shied completely away from it until there was only Spock's face, stern and commanding and calm.

And then his face had been truly bending near hers, now kind and gentle and real, whispering to her, "Wake up, _t'hy'la_ , wake up."

Now she lay in her own bed, her pillow soft against her cheek, old T'Kaal snoring quietly across the room, and the song of the dawnbirds warbling ever so faintly across the courtyard as the first rays of morning broke across the mountain peaks. She replayed scenes of her vision over and over again, attempting to sort them out into some semblance of comprehension. She didn't understand any of the dream and she knew that she didn't dare go to a Dream Reader with it. She would try to puzzle it out by herself. But this much she knew by some instinct she could not explain — whatever the round thing was, it had changed the world and her with it. And somehow, in some manner, it ultimately led her back to Spock.


	17. Chapter 17

**_Two months prior..._ **

The Holding of Tuldu'un overlooked a picturesque valley in the Asagorn Highlands eighty _kh'eet_ northwest of Seleya. It had been established three centuries before by the brother of Anskar's great-grandfather and thus was tied by blood to the House of Ni'ikhirch. The Houses had kept close over the years by cross-bonding their daughters, and the present Holder, Sefak, was a third cousin to Anskar. The Seleyan Holder had fostered at Tuldu'un as a boy, following a long-held tradition of passing around sons between related noble houses in order to cement ties and good will.

There were less obvious motives, as well. The ruling Holders assured that they wouldn't be attacked by their neighbors while the neighbors' sons were guests, _i.e._ , hostages, of the hosting Houses. Stahl of Elakil Holding had originally come to Shar'ram in that way. And there might be marriages between the sons and daughters of those Houses and that made for a legitimate claim on a neighbor's property and water should misfortune befall that unlucky House.

To the boys involved, it was a time of learning and adventure away from home, sometimes the only chance they would have to see the world outside of their own lands. Anskar and Sefak had thus grown up together and remained friends and allies as they ruled their respective Households. One of Anskar's sons, in fact, had married a daughter of Tuldu'un and the two Holders had a grandchild in common.

But on this day Sefak was thinking neither of his granddaughter nor of his youngest son, fostered far to the south in Al'Borak. On this day, his thoughts lay much closer to home — in the courtyard of his Holding as the peace was abruptly shattered by shouts and horns blasting the fortress of Tuldu'un out of its mid-afternoon rest.

The gates opened to admit three battle-scarred men on weary _hoxa_ — all that was left of the patrol Sefak had sent north three weeks earlier to observe the frontier. The men rode slowly into the main courtyard, unwilling to bid their mounts to greater speed, had the animals been able to comply. The people gathered around them as they halted. One of the warriors was too weak to remain in the saddle any longer and slipped from it heavily to the ground.

Sefak appeared at the doorway of the great hall and hurried to them. Women had cradled the fallen warrior in their arms while stable boys and soldiers took care of the _hoxa_ and other two men.

The Holder knelt and grasped the tired man by the shoulders. "Salkar! What happened! Where are the others?"

The warrior gazed wearily at his lord. "Dead. All dead. We were ambushed north of the midlands," he gasped. The people tittered excitedly among themselves. Sefak stared incredulously at him.

Salkar seemed on the verge of collapse. "Everywhere we went, we heard his name ... He's coming, lord. He's on his way. Less than two months, I think, before he overruns us. That's all." He began to wilt and the Holder's strong arms caught him.

"Prepare chambers!" he ordered. "Bring the healers!" Men took Salkar from him and carried him toward the fortress. "I will speak with him shortly!"

Thus, later that afternoon Sefak summoned his war captains and advisers to him and they gathered together in the Holder's conference chamber, assembled around the big wooden table. Seated to Sefak's right was a tall, broad-shouldered man, his long black hair pulled back and tied with a leather thong, and a brass-guarded sword with a red stone set into its pommel hanging at his side. Behind this man's chair stood a young man in the first flush of manhood, strong and serious and ready to serve his master, Lord Tumik, the Sword Bearer of Heya.

Sefak surveyed the men seated at the table and spoke. "I have received _Sai_ Salkar's report. The situation is worse than we feared. There has been a coup in D'Khahl and Stefin has been murdered. His sorcerer, S'Von, has taken over and has allied with Seka and Elakil. Their combined armies are massing on the plains of D'Khahl, ready to march. It is common knowledge among the troops there, according to information Salkar gathered, that their destination is Tuldu'un and, after us, Seleya."

"They are very confident of victory, my lord," Tumik commented, his deep-seated brown eyes grave underneath heavy, slanting brows. "Does S'Von think we will hand over Tuldu'un without a fight?"

"Of course not, but we cannot hope to defeat them alone," Sefak replied. "This sorcerer, S'Von, has dreadful power. He can burn down whole cities with his power."

One of the captains gave a harsh, skeptical laugh. "Oh, surely, my lord, you don't believe tales told by hysterical peasants!"

"There are those who have seen him do it. I would not credit it either except for all the stories that have come out of the north in the past months. Too many have witnessed his power. No... A mortal army I would not fear, no matter the size, but this wizard..." Sefak shook his head and his features settled into a grim determination. "We have no time to lose in preparing. Sentas, gather the troops and call every man you can find in the area to come armed. If a man can fight, he must come. Varan, ride south into Al'Borak and urge them to come. Talak, I send you west to the provinces there. Hurry. Ride quickly and hard."

"Yes, my lord," answered the warriors and rose to do his bidding.

The Holder turned to the aristocratic man at his right. "Tumik, my Sword Bearer ... I send you on a special mission. Go to Shar'ram with my greetings to Lord Anskar and tell him the situation we face and beg his help. Say to him, 'Your cousin Holder Sefak urges that you raise all the troops you can muster and come with all dispatch to our aid. The safety of Seleya itself depends on our joined forces.' Ansaric, you will act as my courier between our Houses. But first I will send you with a message to my son, Suruhl, at Asagorn Holding to bring his troops, then I want you to go on to Seleya from there. Return at once with any answer Anskar has for me while Tumik acts as my personal emissary to my cousin Holder. Urge them all to hurry! Tumik, I want you to take the fastest route possible to Shar'ram, through Se'han."

Ansaric reacted to that order. "My lord! You're sending him through Se'han alone? It is too dangerous!"

Tumik smiled gently and confidently at his squire. "A man traveling alone will make better time. And why do you fear for me, Ansaric? I am the Bearer of Kh'Liorah. No man or beast can touch me. The Goddess protects me."

"I fear for you, all the same, my lord," the young man answered, for he was suddenly filled with foreboding. "There are bandits and wild beasts in the Se'han Hills."

Tumik dismissed his warning with a wave of his hand and stood, swirling his midnight blue cape around his shoulders, fastening the cloak with a silver and sapphire brooch. "Oh, so now you think I'm so foolish that I'll be eaten by wild _le'matyas_ , eh? Or perhaps be robbed by some ragged wretch at the point of a stone knife." He smiled indulgently again and laid a reassuring hand on his _shi'ka'ree_ 's shoulder. "I will be fine, Ansaric. Do as Lord Sefak bids you and I will see you in a few days in Shar'ram. Go prepare Brax and your good Kreyla for the journey. I'll see to my own things."

Sefak stood to see them out. "Heya protect and speed you, Tumik ... Ansaric. Go now as fast as you can."

The men bowed in acknowledgment to their Holder and left the council chamber, Ansaric carrying the sudden added burden of the dreadful premonition that his master, Lord Tumik, would never reach Shar'ram alive.

* * *

He was waiting for her in the stables at midnight as they had arranged. He had stood impatiently for an hour, leaning against the back of his _hox_ 's stall, listening for her light footstep and watching for the dark against dark silhouette as she slipped through the door. At last, a light rustle of fabric alerted him and he started up watchfully.

Then suddenly she was there in his arms, her mouth eager and hot against his, as hungry and passionate as the first time. For a long moment, they stood tightly embraced, absorbed in the fervent, ravenous kiss, then he gently pushed her away. "Come," he whispered, and bent down to pick up the rolled blanket lying in the straw.

Silently, they made their way down the main aisle of the stable, past the many stalls and the dark chamber of the _hox_ master, and out the back entrance. Vulcan had no moon to light their path, but the Eyes, the two companion stars of Vulcan's primary, burned brightly enough to allow them to make their way.

Behind the stable complex was a large partially roofed-over area where fodder for the _hoxa_ was stored. Secluded and never visited during the night hours, it was an ideal rendezvous spot. In the back shadows of the storage barn, the high stacks of bound hay bundles formed an effective screen from any that might pass by during the night, and the thick flooring of loose _tikh_ -straw gave them a soft, fragrant mattress upon which to spread their blanket. Here they could talk or make love as the mood struck them, without fear of discovery.

And it was making love that they did most, for they could not seem to sate their hunger for one another with their infrequent meetings. Without formal ceremony or witnesses, they had melded their hearts and minds together as bondmates, as husband and wife, and they lived through the tortuous days apart so that they could spend their secret nights together.

T'Preve could not come to him every night. It was too dangerous. But she came as often as she could and they had developed a secret signal to alert him whenever she thought she could slip away after the household had bedded down for the night. As Anskar's niece, she was privileged to have her own small chamber, which was shared by her waiting woman, T'Kaal. Thankfully, the nurse was an old woman who slept deeply and long and T'Preve was not above making sure that she did so. Somewhere, the young woman had learned of a plant sap that worked as a soporific. On nights when she wanted to assure that the nurse would not awake, a small drop in the old woman's evening tea sent her yawning to her bed at an early hour. The drug did no harm, just induced a deeper sleep than might be normal, and in fact was a well-known folk remedy in a more diluted form.

But there were other eyes that T'Preve had to avoid when she slipped out of her bed chamber and of these she was most fearful of Stahl or one of his lieutenants. No matter how eager she was to be in Spock's arms, she exercised extreme caution in gliding through the black shadows of the evening. And sometimes there was just too much late night activity going on, particularly now that the fortress was filling with the growing army. More often than not, she was forced to retire alone to her bed, spending the long hours aching for his embrace and indescribable ecstasy of mind melding with the extraordinary man she had met such a short time before. She could only reach out to him mentally, _calling_ him through the bondlink they shared since their joining. But it could not quench the thirst she felt for him, for she could not reach his thoughts, only the emotions he sent back her way. Only in an extreme case of danger or crisis could actual thoughts be transmitted.

Now, as the war loomed, time was growing ever shorter and both knew that each night together could be their last. The armies were nearly assembled and Anskar would give the order to march at any time. A month had passed since the night she had first come to him and Spock estimated they had only days now before he would be forced to leave her. It made their time together all the more precious and bittersweet.

Tonight as they drew apart from the mind meld that accompanied their lovemaking, they lay quietly in the darkness and looked up through the slatted roof at the multitude of stars that shown in the depthless black sky. Spock found himself searching among them ... for what, he scarcely knew anymore. They still beckoned him but the familiarity, the belonging that was once his had faded away. They no longer meant the same thing to him. In another time, another life, he had been at home there and he had known the paths between them as well as he now knew the road to the village commons. Now they had become no more than points of light in the far away night sky, cold, untouchable.

T'Preve was watching his pensive expression and reached up to trail one fingertip along the dark outline of his profile, along his nose to rest on his lips. "Tell me your thoughts," she whispered.

He glanced over at her, his brows lifting in bemusement. "You wish to mind meld again? Already?"

She smiled. "No. _Tell_ me your thoughts. Tell me what troubles you so. I sense that it is not the war ... or us."

Sighing, he let his gaze turn back to the stars. "I was just thinking of my home," he answered quietly.

"What about it, love? Tell me."

"I wish I could, _t'hy'la_ ," he whispered back. "But I wouldn't know where to begin. It would be too strange a tale."

"Still, I would hear it someday," she answered sincerely.

"Someday, then," he promised. "When the war is over..."

"Do you miss it? Your home?"

"Yes," he responded softly, surprised at the depth of sincerity in that simple statement.

He _did_ miss it, the ship. He missed the constant come and go of the crew, missed the tension and excitement of an encounter with new peoples and species, missed the camaraderie with the Captain and the Doctor, the amiable chatter among the bridge officers, the exhilarating tingle of transporting. He missed the way the deck beneath his feet shuddered when the main phasers fired, and the feeling of self-confidence and power he experienced when the Captain was off the bridge and he was in command. He missed the serene moments when he sat in the command chair and watched the stars stream past on the main viewscreen and listened to the quiet efficiency of his junior officers at their work. He missed chess games with Jim and trading insults with McCoy, missed Scotty's blustering and Uhura's sweet voice when she hummed tunes at her bridge station.

And he missed his cabin and its familiar smells and textures. He missed running water and a clean sani unit and a sonic shower. Hot _hiralin_ tea with a hint of cinnamon, and chatty, rambling, totally illogical letters from his mother, and getting out of his uniform at the end of a duty day to relax in a way he would never let anyone see. Meditating in solitude, and the fragrance of Vulcan incense, and playing his lyre late at night with his feet propped up on his bed. _He missed his bed._

A constriction had formed unbidden around his throat and, with determination, he drew a deep breath and forced those seductive, futile thoughts from his mind. It did absolutely no good to make himself miserable dwelling on such things. They were gone forever and he must find contentment here in this barely civilized, brash and boisterous time.

T'Preve was watching him closely and observed the play of emotions that drifted across his features. She had also felt the tantalizing touch of those emotions through their bond and, with it, the lightning quick glimpses of faces and events, sensations and surroundings for which she had no basis of understanding. She only knew that they were part of Spock's past and she felt the deep sorrow he attached to them.

She reached up to caress his cheek, turning his face toward her. "I'm sorry I can't help you get back there," she whispered and for a moment he was startled into thinking that she had read his thoughts during his reverie and knew the strange circumstances of his coming here. Then he realized that she was only responding to his melancholy. And, as he watched her, he ceased to care about things past, for all he could see was the soft, loving expression in her eyes and the way her full lips parted in eager anticipation of tasting his mouth on hers once again.

" _T'hy'la.._." he answered, shifting to face her. "No matter what I left behind there, I would do it a hundred times over to find you. Nothing I had in my homeland compares to what I feel when I look at you."

He moved to embrace her and T'Preve slid her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down to her, holding him close. After a moment, he realized she was crying softly as she held him.

"What's wrong?" he asked in concern, raising himself up from her, trying to see her face clearly in the darkness.

"I'm going to lose you, Spock," she whispered back, the tears on her cheeks glistening in the starlight. "One way or the other, I'm going to lose you."

"Why do you say that?"

"If you go to war, I'm afraid you won't come back."

He tried to smile reassuringly and stroked her wet cheek. "I _shall_ come back," he promised. "You have made it imperative that I do so. How can you think that I would lose you when I've only just found you?"

"If you _do_ come back from the war, there is still Stahl. I am still betrothed to him and he will not release me. It's not that long until spring now and Life Feast." She squeezed her eyes closed. "I can't marry him. I _won't_ marry him!"

Spock gazed down at her soberly, completely serious now. "He will release you," he assured her quietly. "No matter what I have to do, he _will_ release you. I swear it. Because I intend to make you my wife."

Her expression softened and she reached up to caress his face. "Oh, my love, in my heart and in every way that truly counts, I _am_ your wife. For time without end."

He shook his head slowly and took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. "No, that's not good enough. I refuse to continue to meet you only in secret and always afraid of discovery. You are my _t'hy'la_ , the mate of my heart, and I intend to marry you openly and legally, before family and witnesses, in public ceremony at the Ring Stones. I don't care _what_ I have to do to accomplish that."

Tears brimmed in her eyes and she reached for him once more, drawing him into her embrace. He kissed her soundly in affirmation of his promise then stroked two fingers down the back of her hand in caress. She quickly shaped her hand into an answering form and returned his seeking touch. Her mind reached out again toward his, and their thoughts twined together, his emotions wrapping her in diaphanous webs of love and desire.

* * *

The Eyes had slid far into the western sky as Spock watched T'Preve disappear back into the silent depths of the fortress, returning to her chambers. He waited in Brax's stall, stroking the animal's warm silken coat until he was sure that enough time had passed, then he started quietly across the courtyard as well.

Perhaps his mind was still entwined with the rapturous delights of the hours he'd just spent with T'Preve or perhaps the sound of the little fountain in the side garden prevented him from hearing the stealthy movements around him, but in any event he was taken totally by surprise as a leather garrote was wrapped around his neck from behind and he was nearly yanked off his feet as he was dragged into the side garden by strong hands.

Instinctively, he fought to get his fingers underneath the strangling band, then, when that proved unsuccessful, he reached back over his head, trying to get a purchase on his attacker. It was to no avail for the man knew exactly what he was doing.

As Spock began to gasp futilely for air, a low, dangerous voice spoke in his right ear. "Did you think I had forgotten you, stranger?"

Stahl released him just as he was on the verge of blacking out and Spock fell to his knees in the grass of the garden, choking and gulping great lungfuls of air into his oxygen-starved body. At last he was able to turn and look up at the man towering over him. The big warrior was not alone. Three of his cohorts stood behind him, ready to assist him in any way.

"What's the meaning of this?!" Spock demanded hoarsely, although he knew the answer.

Stahl gazed serenely down at him, still idly swinging the doubled _ahn-woon_ he had used to throttle his rival. "Oh, I should think you know all too well the meaning of this," he replied. "Did you truly believe that I would not discover your midnight encounters with her? You realize, I'm sure, Spock, that I would be within my rights as her betrothed-husband to spit the two of you over an open fire and sit back comfortably while you roasted alive."

"You're no husband to her!" Spock shot back, still gasping for air. "You treat her no better than your _hox_ or your hunting _seehn_!"

"Silence!" Stahl hissed, his eyes blazing. "How I treat her is my affair. You overlook the fact that she is my property and whether I use her as a bed or a foot cushion is entirely up to me." The warrior's face twisted into a sardonic grin. "Ah, now, there's a thought. I'll have _you_ skinned and made into a foot cushion. Then you'll always be where I can keep an eye on you and I can kick you into the corner when you get in the way. What do you think of that idea?"

Spock didn't answer. Stahl was absolutely right. By Vulcan law and tradition, a cuckolded husband could demand any punishment he wanted and the Holder would back him completely. It didn't matter that Stahl and T'Preve hadn't been formally bonded yet. They were pledged and it bound them with almost as much legal force as if the mindlink of marriage and the consummation of that marriage had already occurred.

The warrior went on conversationally. "No ... that would distress T'Preve too much and, besides, she'd still be able to lie with you whenever she wished. No ... I shall give it further thought." He paced slowly before the man still on his knees in the grass. "I suppose I could simply gut you here and now and be done with it. However, that makes such a messy corpse and I'd hate for the gardener to have to clean up such a pile of filth." The other warriors chuckled appreciatively at their captain's wit, exchanging glances of sly humor.

Stahl came back to stand before Spock, becoming serious again.

"If you were any other man, Spock, I would impale you alive on a pennon pole and leave you there until the flesh dropped off your bones and the carrion worms turned you to dust. But you are in high favor with Anskar because you wear Heya's sword. I would strip you of that honor if I could, but I don't dare invite disaster with the ancestors and gods if they — for whatever reason — have chosen you to wear it. Therefore, I will show mercy and simply leave you with a reminder that I will not be mocked and made a fool." He jerked his head at the three other men behind him. "Get him up and hold him."

Two of the warriors seized Spock by the arms and dragged him to his feet and the third came around behind him, holding his head still in an iron grip. Stahl wrapped the _ahn-woon_ back around his waist and tied it, then pulled his dagger from its sheath and casually strolled up to face his adversary.

"Just a reminder," he repeated and with a quick movement opened a gash in Spock's right cheekbone. Spock gave a startled cry and jerked back, but the other men held him firmly. Calmly, Stahl flicked the blade and opened a matching cut on the other side of Spock's face. Then he slipped the tip of the knife up under Spock's chin and leaned in close to him. "The next time it will be your throat I'll cut. And I'll do it as a public execution in the Ring ... after you watch me slit T'Preve open like a butchered _paran_."

He gazed meaningfully at Spock then took his knife away and slipped it back into its sheath. The men holding him flung Spock unceremoniously to the ground and all four walked away into the night.

Breathing hard, shocked and with the sharp pain of the cuts throbbing intensely, Spock got to his hands and knees and slowly pushed himself into a kneeling position. Gingerly, he touched his fingertips to one of the cuts, feeling the hot blood stream down his face and drip onto the grass. Then rage and hatred exploded within him, blazing with the strength of Seleya's fires. He leaped to his feet and started in the direction that Stahl had taken, his blood-covered hand drawing his sword with lethal intent, the volcano in his soul thundering up into a full-throated roar. The sword itself seemed to burn with the intensity of a lava lake, aching to blast free.

Then his steps faltered, the eruption of vengeance held back by only the smallest capstone of logic and reason. _Wait_ , it pleaded. _You're outnumbered four to one. Tomorrow. Kill him tomorrow when no one will question your right to do so. Tomorrow._

Slowly, trembling with barely suppressed fury, Spock slipped the sword back into its sheath. _Tomorrow_ , he promised himself.

* * *

T'Preve sat up with a gasp and pulled the blanket up over her breasts as the door to her chamber slammed open abruptly and Stahl and one of his lieutenants entered. "Stahl!" she stammered, the blood draining from her face. "What—"

"Get her out of here," Stahl ordered Temek, the other man, jerking his head toward the old nurse who had come groggily awake at the intrusion.

Temek went over and pulled the old woman gently but insistently from her bed. "Come with me, granny," he said. "Let's go down to the kitchens. You need some tea to help you wake up."

"But ... but ..." she stuttered, not yet awake and thoroughly confused.

"It's time to be stirring," he insisted, urging her along toward the door. "Nearly time to get up for the day." Ignoring her protests, he ushered her out into the hallway.

Stahl shut the door after them and bolted it, then turned to the young woman cowering in her bed. Casually, he walked toward her. "T'Preve, my beautiful darling, I came to apologize to you," he said. "I realized that I have been terribly remiss in my treatment of you."

"What are you talking about?"

"I should have formalized our relationship months ago. I realize that now. Making you wait for marriage has been absolutely unforgivable of me." Stahl paused and smiled benevolently down at her. "By not devoting myself to my husbandly duties, I have neglected you shamefully. To the point of other men getting the _very_ wrong idea that you are available to receive their advances."

She paled even more and shrank away from him with a little gasp of fear.

"Oh, I've already discussed the situation with Spock," Stahl assured her with a smile. "He understands perfectly now, I believe, how I feel about sharing my wife with another man. I came to make sure that _you_ understand, as well."

Still smiling, he unbuckled his weapons belt and draped it over a chair, then propped one foot up on a stool and began unlacing his boots.

 

 


	18. Chapter 18

**_Five days prior..._ **

"Get men back on that ridge!" Sefak shouted over the din of the raging battle. "There! I need reinforcements _there!_ " The Holder of Tuldu'un reined his _hox_ around and directed the bulk of his warriors to take up a position where D'Khali warriors were beginning to breach the fortifications that blocked the mountain pass opening the way into Tuldu'un and the regions to the south. It was a holding action, he knew, and one that they couldn't maintain indefinitely.

"Ansaric! Ansaric! To me!" The young man thundered up on his bay _hox_ and sat awaiting his Lord Holder's orders. Hastily, Sefak scribbled a note on a scrap of parchment, using his thigh as a writing table, then rolled it and handed it over to the courier. "Ride for Seleya as hard as you can! Tell Anskar he must come _now_! We will hold them here as long as we can but it won't be more than two or three days before they'll break through. Then they'll be pouring through the pass in full force."

"I can make it to Seleya in about four days, lord, but it will be four or five more at the very earliest before Anskar can be here," Ansaric answered.

Sefak looked wearily back at the fighting. "I know. We'll retreat once they break through. We'll be massacred if we stay here and fight them against these cliffs. We've got to move before they come through."

"You mean desert Tuldu'un?" Ansaric asked incredulously.

"No, not desert," Sefak answered. "We've got to get out in the open where we can maneuver. Retreat and lead these animals away from the city. If they're following us, they won't be sacking the city." The courier nodded in understanding. "Plus, Anskar may _already_ be on his way. Now, ride, Ansaric. Heya speed you!"

Ansaric nodded a bow and yanked his _hox_ around to the south, urging the animal forward with a shout of urgency. They were gone within a minute, leaving Sefak and one of his captains watching the fast moving cloud of red dust that marked their path.

"Do you think your courier will get through?" questioned the warrior of his commander.

"Goddess willing. Say a prayer up to her, Stehk, that he does and Anskar arrives in time. But if we have to wage a running fight all the way to Seleya, so be it." Sefak looked grim. "Captain, prepare your men. The enemy will overrun that ridge in moments. As soon as they do, I want all of our troops into that breach before they can launch their assault there. They won't be expecting us to attack them through their own breach. It's our only hope. Good luck!"

"Heya be with us all," Stehk responded and the two men melted back into the running, shouting chaos around them.

* * *

Stahl was in an unusually boisterous mood at first meal, sitting with his arm pointedly around a very pale, withdrawn T'Preve. The warrior laughed and talked with his cohorts in the crowded main hall, alternately drinking from a tankard of _tikh_ -beer and tearing at a joint of _paran_ lying on the platter before him. T'Preve hadn't touched the bowl of boiled grain before her. She had searched for Spock at the morning meal but had not found him. She was consumed with a feeling of dread. Not that she feared him slain, because she could feel through their bondlink that he was very much alive. But, although he had shielded his mind from her, she could feel the heat of his anger and hatred breaking around the edges of that shield like flames licking around a forge stone. She was terrified of what would happen when those flames burst free.

As if her thoughts had summoned forth the very demon she feared, the heavy carved doors from the outer courtyard slammed open and Spock strode into the hall, dressed in the formal attire of a warrior. The crimson tabard of the House overlay a coat of mail and he was fully armed with sword and dagger. His midnight blue cloak sweeping the floor, he advanced purposefully across the hall, his face like granite, his destination dreadfully evident.

The noise in the hall shut off as if a switch had been thrown and at the head table Anskar rose apprehensively to his feet.

Spock halted in front of the table where Stahl sat with T'Preve, and his hard, obsidian-dark eyes flicked her way for a brief instant. In that instant he noted her wan, frightened expression, the desperate light in her eyes, the shock with which she beheld the ghastly evidence of Stahl's handiwork on his face.

Turning his furious, unyielding gaze back on the man before him, Spock drew his dagger and slammed the point into the wooden surface before Stahl, leaving it upright and quivering, then declared in a loud, angry voice that filled the hall:

"Stahl cha'S'Khil hei-Kh'd'Elakil, captain of war to Anskar, Holder of this House — I challenge you for possession of the woman T'Preve t'cha'V'Rulk hei-Kh'da'Ni'ikhirch!"

His breath hissing out through clenched teeth, Stahl rose with terrible deliberation to his feet and drew his own dagger, forcefully driving it into the table so that it trembled next to the other.

"Spock cha'Sarek hei-Kh'da'Ni'ikhirch, Sword Bearer of Heya and warrior of the House of Anskar, I accept your challenge! Name your time and place!"

"The Ring Stones of Heya! And right now, Stahl! _Right now!_ "

* * *

The man who had stepped into the Ring a little under two months before to face a barely grown boy had been uncertain of his position, a bit bewildered at the sudden turn of his fate, and still attempting to orient himself in a strange world. Moreover, he had been a highly civilized, sophisticated and logical scientist, raised to control his emotions and to think in a calm rational manner. The man who now took his place in the circle bore scant resemblance to that former persona. The last vestiges of Starfleet Commander Spock, executive officer of the Federation starship U.S.S. _Enterprise_ , had died with the first bite of Stahl's knife across his cheek.

The man who now prepared himself for personal combat was a fully realized Vulcan warrior, seething with barely controlled rage, out for vengeance against an opponent whom he hated with all the savage passions his ancestors had possessed. The fire he felt in his blood threatened to ignite into the inferno of _plak tow_ and he knew now where the madness of _pon farr_ had originated. He fought to vanquish a detested rival and to win the mate he had chosen and taken to his heart and his bed. This fight would not end with the simple expedient of a nerve pinch. This would end with one of them lying dead on the sand.

It seemed that the entire population of Shar'ram had turned out to watch the contest and much speculation and gambling was going on in the ranks of soldiers and civilians. The object of the combat, T'Preve, had taken her place on the judgment dais with Anskar and she had to clutch the back of his chair to stay on her feet, so fearfully did her knees shake. Indeed, she felt that she would faint before the combat had reached its inevitable conclusion. Anskar noticed and ordered her to sit beside him, which she gladly did.

The first time Spock had come into the Ring Stones, he had been alone and it was only Suvakh's charity that had provided him with a second. This time, he had the backing of a large group of supporters, men who had grown to know and respect him over the past weeks. Suvakh was there as well and many other family members of the House who accepted and stood by him as a kinsman.

But Stahl had the backing of a great number of warriors, loyal to their captain. Anskar eyed this contingent with a bit of concern, for of such loyalty was insurrection born. Many of his better warriors stood among this group and he wondered where their dedication lay — to Stahl or the House of Ni'ikhirch.

Temek, Stahl's chief lieutenant, had fetched his captain's armor and sword as soon as the challenge had been issued and accepted. Now Stahl stood to one side donning his mail and preparing himself for the combat. As they waited for Stahl to ready himself, Spock turned his gaze on T'Preve, sitting beside Anskar, and saw that she was watching him with a stricken expression, fear written plainly on her face. He closed his eyes for a moment and reached out to her with his mind, sending comfort and assurance, and felt her answering surge of heartache and hope wash over him in return. Then he broke the mind-touch and straightened, taking a deep breath and focusing on his opponent.

He was surprised to see a figure push through the crowd and make his way hurriedly toward Anskar. It was Ansaric, the young man again dressed in riding clothes, dirty and tired and obviously just arrived. He halted before the Holder and dropped down in a bow, then rose and presented the older man with a scroll. Anskar opened it and read it, then nodded and spoke gravely to Ansaric. The courier bowed to him once more and went to stand tensely at his side, staring with ill-concealed apprehension in Spock's direction.

Stahl was now outfitted and armed. Slipping on his war helm and taking up his shield from Temek, he turned to face his challenger. Spock, similarly attired and armed, did likewise, then the two men moved to drop to one knee before Anskar in tribute. In unison, both rose to their feet and drew their swords and saluted the Holder. There was a gasp and murmur all around the Ring as the Sword of Kh'Liorah shown forth in Spock's hand, but to the two principals, there was no acknowledgment made of the fact.

Anskar likewise seemed indifferent as he rose and looked at each man in turn. "Here begins combat for possession of the woman T'Preve," he announced loudly. "Challenge has been lawfully issued and accepted. T'Preve, are you prepared to become the property of the victor?"

"I am," she answered in a small voice, her eyes locked on Spock's face. He gazed back at her with a grim determination that both frightened her and gave her hope. But Stahl's visage held an almost identical expression and hatred tinged the auras of both men almost palpably.

"Let combat begin," Anskar commanded. "It is finished when one man lies dead or yields." He sat back down.

Spock and Stahl both nodded a bow at him then turned and strode back onto the sand. Stahl hung back for a step or two and allowed the other man to go ahead of him. Just as Spock noticed his ploy and turned, Stahl attacked, slamming his shield hard into Spock's left shoulder.

The blow staggered Spock and knocked him off balance for a second, but it was the advantage Stahl was looking for. He leveled a vicious slash of his sword at Spock, who ducked away just in time and countered with his shield. Before he could recover, Stahl swung at him again and once more Spock blocked it. Then, rage taking the place of surprise, he counterattacked with a powerful swing of his own sword.

Stahl met it with his shield and slashed back at him. Sword met sword and sparks flew as the blades crashed together. Again and again and again the two weapons came together in equal force, then the two men backed off for a minute, both breathing hard and warily circling each other.

Stahl lunged again, a series of hard blows that ultimately knocked the shield out of Spock's grasp and sent it flying. A flash of triumph crossed the warrior's face but was gone in an instant as Spock grasped the hilt of his sword with both hands and launched into a devastating attack, battering Stahl backwards with staggering blows to his shield. After retreating a dozen paces, Stahl suddenly slammed his sword up in a jarring clash with Spock's. The guards locked for a long moment of fierce struggle, then the two men broke apart once more, gasping for breath and marshaling their strength for the next assault.

This time Spock attacked first, springing forward with a harsh cry and a slash of his sword that knocked Stahl off his feet, loosing his grip on his shield and sprawling him in the sand. Spock swung a downward blow aimed at his opponent, but Stahl rolled out of the blade's path an instant before it connected. Scrambling, he got to his feet and tossed his shield away, crouching into defensive position, his grip on his sword two-handed as well. Spock came at him again and the two swords met in a cacophony of ringing steel. Stahl was bigger in stature, but Spock was pressing the attack and forcing the larger man back.

Stahl came up against one of the stone pylons and could retreat no farther. With murderous intent, Spock drew back to deliver the final blow, but Stahl used the leverage of the pylon to abruptly place his boot in Spock's midsection, shoving him back and off-balance enough for Stahl to lunge at him with a clumsy blow to his head. The impact sent Spock backwards into the sand, his helmet flying off, and knocking his sword out of his hand as he hit.

Stahl gave a mirthless, victorious laugh and sprang at him, bringing his sword blade down in a two-handed blow. But as Stahl had done, Spock rolled as the blade bit into the sand where his body had been an instant earlier and leaped to his feet, snatching up his sword as he did so. Now, however, it was Spock's turn to retreat from Stahl's attack, countering the blows sword to sword.

Stahl swung at his head and Spock ducked the blade, then abruptly moved behind Stahl as the warrior's momentum spun him past and brought the pommel of his sword down hard on Stahl's shoulders. The bigger man staggered with the blow and the shock radiating down his arms caused him to lose his grip and drop his sword. Before he could recover, Spock kicked it far out of his reach, then danced back out of his range, sword at ready and catching his breath.

Stahl was down on one knee, panting with exertion, and glaring at his opponent, obviously thinking hard about his next move. After a moment, he got to his feet and unwrapped the _ahn-woon_ from around his waist and began moving to find an advantageous angle. Spock countered, watching him closely, fully aware of how deadly the long leather strap could be. It could be used as a whip, a bola, or a garrote and, in practiced hands, could blind an opponent or break bones with ease.

As Stahl began slowly swinging the long whip-like weapon over his head, Spock tensed, trying to calculate Stahl's target. He was prepared when Stahl snapped the _ahn-woon_ at his ankles and leaped back just in time, scrambling to keep out of the weapon's range. A sword was an uncertain match for an _ahn-woon_ and Spock backed away, thinking desperately. Then, as Stahl pulled the strap back to him for another assault, Spock suddenly sprang at him, his sword drawn back to strike.

Stahl, though taken by surprise, recovered with the ease of an experienced combat veteran and used Spock's momentum against him, grasping the front of the crimson surcoat and throwing them both into a dive that landed both men hard on the ground. Spock was unprepared and had the breath knocked out of him as he hit, but more importantly his sword was knocked out of his grasp and away from his reach.

Before he could recover, Stahl was on him, wrapping the _ahn-woon_ around his throat and yanking it tight. For an instant, Spock panicked and clawed at the constricting band, then he heard T'Preve's cry of anguish and despair echo across the arena — whether out loud or in his mind, he was never sure — but it spurred him into furious action.

Locking his opponent in a murderous glare, Spock reached down and drew his dagger from its sheath then brought it up to his own throat. Stahl's brows twitched in surprise and alarm, clearly wondering if Spock intended to kill himself rather than allow Stahl the victory. But Spock somehow managed to dig his fingers underneath the leather band around his neck, allowing him just enough room to slide the blade of the dagger underneath it — and suddenly, with a snap of parting leather, he was free.

Instantly, he had flipped Stahl over onto his back and was sitting astride him, the blade jammed up into the muscles beneath the warrior's jaw, blood already spurting from the long cut across Stahl's throat.

Stahl started to make a grab for the dagger, but Spock simultaneously caught his wrist and thrust the dagger harder against the bulging veins in Stahl's neck. "Yield or die!" Spock ground out hoarsely, homicidal rage darkening his face.

Stahl made a move to struggle, but Spock demanded again, " _Yield or die!_ " and was clearly prepared to bury his blade all the way into Stahl's throat.

At last, Stahl croaked, "Yield! I yield!", his face contorted with the shame of defeat and the agony of not wishing to die at his rival's hand.

" _Kroykah!_ " came Anskar's voice in absolute command and suddenly strong hands were dragging Spock to his feet and away from his defeated opponent. It took him a moment to realize that the hands belonged to Suvakh and Ansaric.

Temek and Stahl's other supporters were helping him to his feet, Temek wrapping a bandage around his captain's neck to staunch the flow of blood from the cut sliced across his throat. Anskar came to stand beside Spock, who was slowly regaining control of himself, his bloody dagger still clutched in his right hand.

Loudly, Anskar announced, "Stahl has yielded combat to Spock! I declare that Stahl has forfeited all rights and possession to the woman T'Preve and that she is now the property of Spock. Further, in yielding, Stahl has forfeited his life into Spock's hands. Spock — declare judgment! The right is yours!"

The crowd grew silent and Stahl glared in hatred at the victor of their battle, waiting breathlessly to hear his fate. Spock drew himself up and took a deep breath, glowering back at the man who had tormented him ever since his arrival here.

"Stahl, hear me!" he said in a voice that carried throughout the Ring Stone complex. "I give you back your life but I hereby banish you from Shar'ram and the Province of Seleya! If you set foot within 50 _kh'eet_ of this mountain and Holding, your life shall be the price! A sentence of death is hereby laid upon you within this area! You have one hour to gather your belongings and get out!"

Stahl gave a cry of rage and sprang toward him, but was held back by his more prudent lieutenants. "You _s'lata_ spawn!" he hissed through clenched teeth. "How dare you presume to banish me! And you, Anskar — after a lifetime of service to you — will you now stand there silent and allow this ... this _bastard_ of no Household to disgrace me?"

Anskar sighed and straightened, his scarred face seeming older than its years. "Combat has been fairly completed and judgment lawfully pronounced. I have no choice, Stahl, but to accept it by our laws and traditions."

Stahl's face darkened with rage and he jerked loose from the hands holding him. "A plague be upon your laws and traditions!" He spat vehemently into the sand in disgust then turned his glare on Spock. "As for you, this banishment goes both ways. Set one foot outside of your imposed limit and I will subject you to a death beyond your worst nightmares. And if _she_ is with you, before you die, you will watch me feast on her heart and the hearts of her children! Mark me well and remember my words!"

With that, Stahl spun and marched away toward the Holding to gather his belongings. Temek went with him and, after a few seconds of hesitation, so did two other warriors, then four, and finally his entire cohort of twenty. All were gone from Shar'ram within the hour.

As soon as the men had left the Ring, Spock staggered and nearly fell from exhaustion. Ansaric lunged to catch him and then T'Preve was by his side, also supporting him. As he looked down into her pale features, wan with stress and streaked with tears, he felt strength coming back into him and he pulled her to him, folding her in an embrace of relief and love.

Then, removing his mail gauntlets and passing them to Ansaric, Spock held out his right hand to T'Preve, his first two fingers extended. She blinked up at him in surprise and amazement, then a smile of utter adoration broke across her face and she touched her fingers to his. Solemnly, he led her before the Holder Anskar.

"My lord," he said, his gaze focused on T'Preve's beautiful face. "Before this company and in the sight of our ancestors and the Goddess, I declare this woman my legal wife. I bequeath to her all my lands and possessions, and acknowledge that her children are my children, her House is my House. And I pledge to her my loyalty and faithfulness, my honor and industry, all the days of my life."

T'Preve's mahogany eyes were shining with tears as she smiled in devotion at the man beside her. "My lord," she said, "before this company and in the sight of our ancestors and the Goddess, I declare this man to be my legal husband. I give him all my lands and possessions and acknowledge that my children are his children, my House is his House. And I pledge to him my loyalty and devotion, my faithfulness and industry, all the days of my life."

They turned to each other and placed their fingertips on the other's face, reaching out to each other with their minds, strengthening the bond that had already been formed between them. Anskar placed a hand on each dark head and mentally probed the mindlink between them, then backed off and lifted his hands above each.

"In the name of the Goddess Heya and by the laws of this House, I declare that this man and this woman have bonded in mutual consent and shall henceforth in all aspects be husband and wife! May their union be long and fruitful!"

As Spock and T'Preve embraced, a cheer went up from the crowd surrounding them and then they were mobbed by well-wishers, the tension of a short while before becoming exultation at the unexpected outcome of the morning's events. Tragedy had turned to celebration, death into life, and for a moment — an oh-so-brief moment — the coming war was forgotten.

Anskar allowed the congratulations to go on for a few moments more, then signaled his steward to sound the metal gong that hung inside one of the arches of the pavilion. The stentorian tone shocked everyone to silence and they turned to face the Holder.

"We honor the joining day of Spock and T'Preve but our celebrations must be set aside until later. Ansaric has brought me an urgent message from Sefak of Tuldu'un. The armies of Tuldu'un have engaged the forces of D'Khahl at the Gateway Pass in the Asagorn Mountains. Sefak doesn't expect to be able to hold them there long. Prepare yourselves for departure! We march to their aid at dawn tomorrow!"

 


	19. Chapter 19

**_Five days prior..._ **

"What's the matter with you?" S'Von demanded of the weary and begrimed captains who stood before him in his tent. "Your men should have been through this mountain pass two days ago."

"Lord, we have not been met like this before," one of them, an Elakili, answered, frowning with fatigue. "The Tuldu'unis have the pass fortified and heavily manned. Sefak had enough warning that he was able to prepare for our attack and moreover he got word through to the surrounding provinces. They may be able to hold this pass indefinitely."

"Indeed," spoke up the other captain, the Sekani. "And how long do you think it will take Anskar to arrive with reinforcements? We can't stand against that size force."

"You can and you will," S'Von growled back, leaning forward. "Because we aren't going to wait for Anskar to bring his troops up as he pleases. We are going to take this pass — _today_ — and then we are going to march on Seleya before he is ready to move."

The captains exchanged incredulous looks. "You can't be serious," the Elakili responded.

The caramel-colored eyes glittered with deadly purpose and the captain backed down in apprehension. "I have never been more serious in my life," S'Von hissed. "Captain Sukim, hold your men in reserve. Captain Volon will launch a mass attack against the fortifications. I want an attack there that will draw the majority of Tuldu'uni troops to those points. At the height of the battle, I will blow a hole in that mountain pass that will allow your troops and yours, Captain Sukim — all of them — to storm the breach. We will be through and into Tuldu'un by sundown." S'Von sat back in his chair and gazed at them as if daring a challenge.

The captains glanced at each other once more than both bowed. "As you wish it, lord," answered Sukim.

"Go and prepare. We attack in one hour."

* * *

Shar'ram was crowded, as was the town that surrounded it. The army of Seleya was anxious to be off and was spending this final evening making preparations to march with the rising of the sun, packing gear and saying farewells. There had been many marriages performed that day, many babies conceived without benefit of formal vows, and many virgins who were not so when the troops left. There had been a boom on _tikh_ -beer, ale and wine and the taverns had been continually full.

In the fortress main hall, however, evenmeal was quiet as the family of Anskar and the company of the court enjoyed a last time of togetherness. One of the young minstrels sang a bittersweet love song, strumming his _ka'athyra_ softly, knowing that he too would be leaving for battle on the morrow. No one spoke while the young man sang, each too engulfed in his or her own thoughts to make comment.

At their table, Spock and his bride exchanged a long glance and he took her hand silently, squeezing it. She inclined her head and gently brought his hand up to her lips, then held it against her cheek. In the subdued atmosphere, the meal was soon ended and couples began to beg leave of the Holder and drift away to their private places. Anskar soon retired as well and the gathering disintegrated rapidly.

Hands clasped, Spock and T'Preve climbed the stairs to her chamber. She said nothing, but the sadness in her large brown eyes spoke volumes. It was their wedding night, what would normally have been the beginning of their Joining, when they would have secluded themselves for ten days and lost themselves in each other and the glorious ecstasy of their bonding. Now, it would be their only night together as husband and wife and neither knew if he would be coming back to her.

They undressed by the light of the flames crackling in the fireplace, the rosy glow and dancing shadows lending an other-worldly quality to their preparations. It felt strangely intimate and somehow exciting to be able to come together this way, in the privacy of a bed chamber, openly and legally bonded, husband and wife. And yet T'Preve could not help but feel uneasy and reticent. The memory of what Stahl had done to her in this room just the night before was a fresh and painful wound. Spock realized what made her cling to him and turn her face away from their awaiting bed.

"He's gone," he whispered to her, holding her close. "You're mine now, my wife, and he will never bother you again."

She looked up at him, her features kissed by the warm light of the fire. "How can you be sure, _s'hy'la_?"

"Anskar has set guards to be doubly watchful for Stahl or any of his men. Anskar knows what type of man Stahl is. You'll be safe here in Shar'ram."

She sighed and caressed his face, ever-so-lightly touching the healing wound on her husband's cheek. "I can't help but fear him. And with you gone..."

"I have not gone yet," he answered huskily and swept her up in his arms, carrying her to their Joining bed.

He made love to her with a tenderness and urgency that clearly bespoke the short time they had left together. And she responded with the desperation and yearning of a woman clutching her lover's straining body for a last fevered night of love before he marched away to blood and death.

Later, she lay in the shelter of his arms, feeling very small next to him. Gently, he brushed her hair back from her face and stroked her cheek, seeking to touch her thoughts. Wordlessly, she sank against him, clutching him, her body beginning to shake with sobs. He gathered her to him, loving the fragrance of her hair, the silkiness of her skin.

"The fighting won't last long," he said softly. "And I have to go. I am duty bound."

"I'm so afraid I'll lose you," she whispered. "To have had you such a short time..." She sobbed again then said, "You won't come back to me! I know it! Please don't go, _s'hy'la_ , please..."

"I have to," he answered seriously. "I have no choice. I came here searching for S'Von and I must find him and take him back to face trial. If it means taking him on the battlefield, then that is what I must do." Stroking her face, he gazed deep into her eyes and whispered, "I hadn't planned on finding my heart in the process, but now I know that I was led here for a reason. Whether it was fate or coincidence or the Hand of Heya, we were meant to find each other. And I promise you, _t'hy'la_ , I promise you — I _will_ come back for you. I vow it. If there is life left in me, I will come back for you." He drew her close and kissed her long and fervently, in pledge to her. And through their bonding meld, she felt his determination to return and his desire for her.

When she looked back at him, although her lashes were still wet, her eyes held only a love and need for him that spoke of an enduring bond of their hearts and minds. "I know you will," she answered softly. "But for now I only want to be near you, to love you with all my heart." She reached up to touch her fingers to his face and he did the same. Their thoughts opened and intertwined in an intimacy that reached the very depths of their souls. And she unveiled parts of her consciousness that she had carefully shielded from him before now.

Abruptly, Spock broke the link and drew away, staring at her in amazement, his breath coming in a short gasp. T'Preve smiled at him with tears in her eyes and gently took his hand, placing it against her abdomen. "Yes," she told him. "A child. A son ..."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner? How long have you known?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"I felt the trembling of his new consciousness this morning and knew it for certain," she answered softly. "It is barely there, just a tiny spark, but I felt it. I wasn't sure before and there was no need to tell you until I was."

"You knew before I challenged Stahl? _T'hy'la_ , what would you have done if he had won? He would surely have known that it was not his child."

She gazed back at him solemnly and suddenly he knew the answer. She had vowed never to marry Stahl, no matter what she had to do to prevent it. If Spock had died in combat, she would have joined him in death ... and taken their child with her. Anything to prevent either of them falling into Stahl's cruel hands.

Absolutely speechless, Spock blinked at her then drew her quickly to him, burying his face in her long black hair. At last, still reeling with amazement at this woman who had captured his heart, he drew away and kissed her tenderly. She slipped her arms around his shoulders and drew him down to her, reaching out to him with thoughts of passion and yearning. In response, the fire in his soul surged up again, roaring back into radiant and jubilant flame.

They said nothing more that night.

* * *

It was barely light the next morning when the armies of Seleya began their march north. The Holder of Seleya rode out first and his sons followed with their respective armies, their _hoxa_ and banners blazing in the sunlight, rainbow hued. The people of the village, the women and children and old men, lined the streets to see them off.

Ansaric had slipped into his role as the Sword Bearer's _shi'ka'ree_ and had prepared Brax before Spock and T'Preve ever came down to the main courtyard. The young man now stood waiting, holding the reins of both Brax and his own _hox_ , Kreyla, prepared to depart. Brax pawed the ground restlessly. He had been brushed until his coat shone like silver and draped in his red trappings, the Eye of Ni'ikhirch gleaming from his saddle drapery. As Spock checked him over one last time, securing the saddlebags and testing the fittings of the harness, Brax fixed him with one great dark eye and bespoke eagerness and passion for the fight ahead.

Satisfied, Spock patted the _hox_ 's neck and then turned back and reached for his wife one final time. She fell into his arms and tears spilled down her cheeks as she embraced him frantically, knowing it might be the last time. "Goodbye, my love! Heya go with you!" Their lips came together in a last, urgent kiss, then he forced himself to pull away from her and turned to where Ansaric was holding the fitful Brax. Pulling on his leather gauntlets, Spock swung up into the saddle and took up the reins. Beside him, Ansaric mounted up on Kreyla's broad back and turned the _hox_ 's head toward the main gate.

T'Preve moved over beside the big gray animal her husband rode and held up a small velvet pouch to Spock. "Take this part of me with you into battle, _s'hy'la_. It will bring you luck."

Curious, he opened the pouch and peered inside, then looked back down at her, a mixture of love and sorrow on his face. It contained a lock of her inky black hair, curling gently in on itself. Unable to speak, he slipped the pouch inside his tunic and reached down to take her hand, unwilling to let go of her.

It was finally Brax who took the initiative. The big _hox_ moved away toward the gate, drawing Spock and T'Preve apart. He lifted his hand to her in farewell and she waved shakily back, one hand sheltering the flicker of life within her, her long dark hair playing around her face and shoulders as the chill morning breeze picked up strength.

Overhead, the low winter clouds that covered the sky began to shed a light rain, adding to the bleakness of the day. Spock pulled the hood of his cloak up to ward off the light rain and called to his men, who were likewise caught up in goodbyes with their lovers or wives and children. He urged Brax forward and the garrison fell into formation behind him through the main gate, leaving Shar'ram behind, their _hoxa_ 's hooves clattering emptily on the wet cobblestones.


	20. Chapter 20

For a full day the armies rode north toward the cold mountains that rose in the distance. It was early winter and the day grew cooler and wetter and a chill wind began to blow down on them. Late in the day, they met refugees, fleeing south from S'Von's armies. And hard on their heels came an even bigger surprise — the remains of Sefak's troops, battle-scarred and weary, retreating toward Seleya as well. They had fought two hard engagements with the D'Khahli army and each time had broken off and fled further south, drawing the invading warriors away from Tuldu'un.

Anskar dismounted and went to embrace his cousin. Sefak definitely looked the worse for his ordeal. Dirty, his face streaked with blood, he staggered as he came forward on foot to meet his kinsman. His troops and their _hoxa_ looked ready to collapse and Anskar quickly gave the order to set up camp. The sun was beginning to sink behind the western fringe of mountains that separated the uplands from the Sas-a-Shar Desert and Anskar only prayed that the madman S'Von would not attack them after dark. Surely his troops were as weary as the Tuldu'uni soldiers they pursued and would need to rest before launching another assault. Nevertheless, he posted double guards around the perimeter.

They were now in the foothills of the mountains, about a day's ride before they reached Tuldu'un. But it looked now as if S'Von would bring the fight to them. Anskar didn't like their position here. It was too vulnerable and they were on strange ground. As long as S'Von was pursuing Sefak south, he'd lead him on further, back to territory that Anskar knew intimately and where he would have a strong fortress at his back should he need it.

The two Holders sat hunched over battle plans with their captains, their warrior sons, and Spock. When Ansaric had first brought word to him of Lord Tumik's death on the road to Seleya weeks earlier, Sefak had reacted with shock and grief. Now, as he met Spock for the first time, the new Sword Bearer, he nodded with acceptance of Heya's Will, and greeted him wearily. Now the men sat around the fire, drinking bowls of hot _sufa_ wine to ward off the chill.

All looked up as Selhga, a sturdy northern farmer whom Anskar had employed to spy out S'Von's position, strode up and nodded a stiff bow. He was a big rough man with a bushy beard and piercing black eyes. Anskar motioned for him to be seated.

"Tell us what you know," said Anskar, leaning forward.

"He's near, lord," Selhga answered in his gruff voice. "No more'n a half-day's march. They're camped over on the other side of the highlands there."

Anskar nodded and looked at Sefak. "I don't propose to wait on him to come to us."

"There's no good place to stage a battle between here and Tuldu'un," Sefak answered. "I know."

"Then that just confirms my plan to lead him back to Seleya. We'll meet him in the Valley of R'uhn s'vat."

Selhga snorted. "The Place of Bones. Appropriate name."

Anskar shrugged. "It's called that because the bones of ancient animals have been found there. At one end, a mineral spring comes out of the ground and animals gather there to lick the salt, that's all." He pointed to a map spread before them. "We'll move before dawn. I want to make sure we're back on home ground, prepared, before they catch up with us."

"How soon?" Sefak asked.

"We'll march there tomorrow and wait. We should be there by nightfall. If my instincts are correct, then his armies will arrive far after dark and will be too weary to fight after the long march. We'll be in place two days hence, with a night's rest before we engage them," the older man replied. "They won't be as fresh for the fight."

Spock felt very cold inside. Two days. A full day's ride back the way they had come, then a battle that his intuition told him would be the confrontation with S'Von that he had been awaiting all these weeks. He recalled his original mission here, to apprehend S'Von and return him to the future for trial. How foolish that seemed now, when he knew of no way to return to their time period. Both were trapped here in the past and would live out the remainder of their lives here. How long those respective lives turned out to be would be determined by the battle coming so swiftly upon them. He could see only one end to it all. He was going to have to kill S'Von and end his rampage once and for all.

Feeling the need to be alone, Spock stood up and left the campfire. One of the men moved to stop him, but Sefak caught his arm and shook his head. They let him go.

He walked to the edge of the camp and sat down with his back against a boulder. Wrapping his cloak close around himself against the cold, he sat silent and thoughtful for a long time, a feeling of despair overcoming him at the terrible burden fate was forcing him to bear. Uncertainty sent a chill down his spine, for there was the possibility that killing S'Von would be the wrong thing to do, that _that_ action would change history. How could he _know?_ How could he be _sure?_ Sighing, he let his gaze turn upward.

The rain had stopped earlier and the clouds blown south on a steady northern wind. In the clear night sky above him, a multitude of stars shone, sharp and frosty in the winter air. The sight made Spock remember when he'd moved among them with little thought to the wonder of the deed, when he had viewed them with scientific detachment and pure logic. Almost without volition, he began to name them over in his mind, some deep well of knowledge supplying magnitudes, number of planets, cities on those planets, populations... He picked out locations of star bases, systems he had visited, sites of battles. Specific memories attached to specific stars. People he had known there, things he had done, another life in another time. And in his mind's eye, he saw a sleek white ship streaking between those stars, a rainbow-hued blur in the warped bubble of subspace in which it traveled, his home for the past two decades. He would never see that home again or the friends he had known and respected. All lost to him, forever lost.

With a pulse of sorrow, he thought of how long he'd been here, of the weeks that had passed since he'd found himself lying on a dusty hillside, of all that had happened since. There was no use thinking about the _Enterprise_ or his lost comrades. He'd long ago given up any hope of returning to his own time. His captain and crewmates must have stopped searching for him weeks ago and gone on about their mission. If they even existed. He still had no way of knowing how his presence here — or S'Von's — had changed the timeline. He thought for a second of Zarabeth and of something she had said to him: " _This_ is my time now. I've had to accept that."

He sighed again. Well, this was _his_ time now and he was irretrievably caught up in circumstances that would determine his fate and the fate of his planet. Like it or not, he was now a part of what Vulcan would become, and whether that future would see the birth of a child named Spock, the son of Sarek cha'Skon and his human wife, Amanda, he had no way of knowing.

He shook his head. There was the time paradox again. If no such future existed, then would he cease to exist here in the past? Would time then switch onto yet another pathway and branch into a completely different direction? It was a maddening, completely illogical problem. And his logic had practically ceased to exist here in the past. He could no longer puzzle out such equations and solve them. He was no longer the man he remembered. In the here and now, he had become exactly like his ancestors, the people who surrounded him — violent, emotional, savage.

A swell of anger surged up in him. He didn't want to be here! But where he'd rather be divided him into warring camps. Part of him wanted to be back on the _Enterprise_ , in the world he remembered and had understood, among his friends and colleagues, exploring the galaxy as the scientist he had been. That part of him longed for the cool, logical Mr. Spock, first officer of a Federation starship, surrounded by his computers and instruments, at his familiar bridge station, confident in what he did and where his life was going.

But the other part of him, the _now_ part of him, wanted to be back in his fire lit chambers at Shar'ram, T'Preve warm and safe in his arms. He wanted to watch her grow heavy with child and bring forth a son and then see him grow into manhood. He wanted to ride into the desert with his little son before him on the saddle and there show him the beauties and dangers of his home, to teach him survival and riding and combat, until he was a man his father could be proud to call his own.

And yet there was no hope of that, either. He did not know how he knew it, but T'Preve and their child and Shar'ram had been lost to him from the moment he had climbed onto Brax's back.

No ... not quite. Spock reached into his tunic and pulled out the little velvet pouch that held the lock of T'Preve's hair. It smelled of the flower garden where he had first approached her and he smiled remembering it. For a long moment, he held the pouch to his face, then he tucked it away, feeling somewhat heartened. Getting to his feet, he went and found his bedroll where Ansaric had laid it out near one of the fires. He was so tired that he fell asleep almost immediately.

T'Preve danced in his dreams that night and for a time he chased her through a meadow until he caught her, and they wrestled and made love in the sweet long grass. But then, suddenly, she was gone from beneath him and he was alone in a world that was his, yet not. His dream became filled with stars and instruments and faces from his past. One in particular hovered before him, a hazel-eyed man who told him, "We're coming to get you, Spock. Don't give up." But the face became S'Von's and his mocking visage insisted, "Yes, I'm coming, Spock. Why not surrender now and avoid the slaughter? It is hopeless." Then there came the nightmare of slain men around him on the battlefield, drenched in mud and their own blood and S'Von laughing over them.

Spock awoke with a start and sat up, breathing hard. The night was cold and tranquil, the silence broken only by snores and _hox_ -sounds, or the clink of metal as the guards paced. Feeling weakened by the dream, he lay back into his bedroll and closed his eyes, trying not feel the sense of doom settling over him.

* * *

S'Von looked up as guards entered his tent, escorting a big, broad-shouldered warrior. He wore no insignia or house sigil and, beneath the mail coif lying bunched around his neck, there was a bandage encircling his throat.

"Who are you?" S'Von demanded, his eyes narrowing.

"Lord, I am Stahl hei-Kh'd'Elakil. I have come to join you, bringing twenty men with me to fight in your ranks."

"Indeed. And why is that? Where do you come from?"

"We have been in the service of Lord Anskar of Seleya but no longer serve that House. I offer our services to you."

S'Von cocked an eyebrow in surprise and sat back in his chair, away from the table on which was spread maps of the area. "You left Anskar to fight with me? What makes you believe I'm fool enough to believe that?"

Stahl fixed him with a hard stare. "Because it's true. Anskar betrayed me in favor of another, a stranger who came into our midst two months ago and claimed kinship. With trickery and lies, he established himself in Anskar's favor and finally I was banished from Seleya, threatened with death should I return. To add salt into that wound, Anskar took my wife and awarded her to this man." The big warrior leaned over the table, his dark eyes glittering with hatred. "I can help you, my lord. I can get you into Shar'ram and help you defeat Anskar."

S'Von studied him with a half-closed gaze, his light eyes cold as amber. "You sound very much as if you're bent on revenge, _Sai_ Stahl."

Stahl's face hardened into granite. "I want two things, my lord. Just two. I want my wife back. And, with my own hands and blade, I want to _kill_ Spock hei-Kh'da'Ni'ikhirch."

"Spock?!" exclaimed S'Von in surprise, then his gaze turned inward. "So, he's here. I was wondering when he'd show up. Oh, this is even better than I'd hoped."

Then Stahl watched incredulously as S'Von's face broke into a smile and he began to laugh, loudly, heartily, and with great satisfaction.

 


	21. Chapter 21

By morning the clouds had returned and it rained the entire way back to Seleya. Cold, drenched and tense, the troops of Anskar and Sefak trudged doggedly through the mud throughout the long day. Towards late afternoon, as they came down out of the hills and into the R'uhn s'vat Valley, the sun finally broke through the clouds and bathed them in a warm orange light. It did little to banish the chill in their bones, but the sight of it was good to behold. Far across the valley, about four _kh'eet_ in distance, rose the lower slopes of Seleya and on its flanks shown the Yellow City, Shar'ram, gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight. Many took it as a sign from Heya that they had reached the destination she had appointed for the coming fight.

Camp was pitched on the soggy field overlooking the valley itself, guards and lookouts were posted, and the weary troops began to make preparation for the battle that would surely take place with the coming of morning light.

Spock had been thinking all day as they rode back and there was a chore that he had to perform tonight. There was a very real chance that he would die in battle in just a few hours and he must make sure that he left nothing behind him that might fall into curious, unknowing hands, no item that was monstrously out of place in this time period.

Leaving Ansaric in charge of his _hox_ , Spock tossed the saddlebags over one shoulder and climbed up alone onto the barren mountain overlooking the valley. When he judged that he was far enough away from the camp that he would not be disturbed, he stopped and knelt down to examine the contents of the carrybags.

The first things he drew out were a pair of dirty black uniform trousers and a ripped black t‑shirt. Neatly, he folded the pants and shirt and placed them on the ground. Next came his uniform tunic. For a long moment, he ran his hand over the soft blue velour, the luxurious texture of the fabric conjuring a host of memories. Gently his fingers drifted over the double gold braid on the sleeves and he thought of the years it had taken to win the right to wear that braid and the sacrifices he had made in the process. Finally, he folded the tunic and went to place it atop the pants. His fingertips lingered most painfully on the arrowhead insignia on the breast, the stylized double‑circle nestling on the silver-gold background calling to him of his past life. With reverence and regret, he steeled himself and placed the tunic on top of the pants.

His boots he set aside. Should he survive, they would be useful and were irreplaceable.

Next onto the pile went his communicator. But first, experimentally, he flipped open the grid and once more listened to the chirp of opened channels. Nothing came back but static, as he'd expected, and he laid it on the shirt. His tricorder followed. He was most reluctant to lose it, for it had been his lifeline as a scientist to the world around him. How many landing parties had he gone on with the long strap draped across his chest? How many readings had he taken of unknown life forms or worlds? He remembered some of the most unusual — the horta, the Companion, the brain-cell creatures that had attacked him on Deneva. He thought of the "stone knives and bear skins" he had used to build a primitive computer to tap into the images his tricorder held when they'd gone back in time to search for McCoy. So many other occasions, more than he could remember.

He caressed the black leather case of the instrument then gently folded the strap and placed it onto the other things from his past life. Finally, he removed his phaser from the bag. Of all the things he carried, this must be destroyed at all cost. He had considered carefully how he could do so. A forced chamber explosion would take out the side of the mountain and he wanted to do this as quietly as possible.

In the fading light of sunset, he set about partially dismantling the phaser. He worked out the focusing array on the "barrel" and then reversed and reinserted it. The array didn't fit back very well, but he wouldn't need it to slide in perfectly. All he needed it to do was reflect the power beam back on itself and force the weapon to disintegrate itself. He'd never actually seen it done and he hoped the theory didn't backfire disastrously in practice.

When he was ready, he stood gazing for a few introspective seconds down at the little pile of articles that was his final tie to his former life. Once they were gone, he would be irretrievably wed to the time period he now occupied. Then, sighing, he set the phaser on high, jammed the trigger with a sliver of rock to hold it in firing position, tossed the weapon onto the articles heaped before him, and dived behind a large boulder.

The hum of the phaser rapidly rose to a high-pitched scream and then there was a blinding flash of light and all became silent and dark. Spock waited for a moment, then peered out from behind his shelter. Where once there had been clothing and instruments from a future time, there was now only a large blackened circle on the rocks. Those traces of his former life were gone forever.

Spock bent down and picked up his boots and the saddlebags and began the next phase of his mission here. He climbed until he found a ledge of rock facing east over the wilderness stretching away toward the Se'han Hills and settled down there into lotus seat, drawing his cloak around him and pulling the hood up over his head. As the red sun sank below the peaks behind him, he closed his eyes and stilled his mind and soul into meditation, preparing himself for the coming day.

* * *

The morning sun broke over the rim of the mountains on the horizon, penetrating his consciousness. He was not asleep but the depth of his meditation might have been interpreted as such. He had sat alone on the mountain all night, meditating, clearing his soul and readying himself.

Throughout the cold of the night, he had remained oblivious, unmoving. Even when the _le'matya_ had slunk close enough to sniff at his jawline, he might have been a rock for all the notice he took. The beast had finally crept away, finding him unappetizing. If he had moved, it would have attacked, burying its fangs into his vulnerable throat, but even his breathing was so shallow that his chest barely rose and fell.

Now the rosy sunlight fell full upon his face, painting his skin crimson. His nose and cheeks created shadows and planes of light across his features, accented by the upswept angle of his dark, slim brows. Slowly, he blinked as he came back to himself and the sun momentarily blinded him. His vision adjusted quickly however and he opened eyes the color of deep brown suede to observe the morning.

The world fell away before him, reaching out to the horizon in rugged hills colored with shadows of purples and blues. The morning breeze ruffled the hood of his cloak and caused strands of his thick black hair to play about his mouth and eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had it cut. In his previous life, probably, when such things mattered. They didn't here. He enjoyed the feeling of freedom it gave him.

Now he stretched his back and shoulders, stiff from the long hours he'd sat in lotus seat upon the mountainside. One by one, he flexed muscles and tendons then smoothly rose to his feet and finished his morning exercise. The discipline of _kh'thy'nera_ , the slow deliberate movement of the body through controlled paces and stresses, both limbered and strengthened him, and when he finished, he felt alive and alert.

Pushing back the hood, he stood for a while watching the day brighten as the sun climbed higher into the tangerine sky. Stiffening a bit, the wind fluttered the fabric of his cloak and whipped his hair into his face. Absently, he reached up to brush it back behind the pointed tip of one ear, his sharp hearing picking up the sound of war preparation from the camp below him.

It was time. He was ready. Quickly, he descended the trail into camp and found Ansaric waiting on him. The squire helped him don his battle gear, heavy brass-studded leather armor and mail over which he slipped the red surcoat of his House, emblazoned with the Eye across the chest. He chose to wear his Starfleet boots, for they called up a memory in him of the times he had fought before. Ansaric found the boots strange and wonderful, marveling at the hard soles that held their shape without brass studs and strengthening. For extra protection, Spock laced metal-reinforced shin guards around his lower legs and then straightened to take his weapons from his _shi'ka'ree_.

Spock strapped on his sword belt over the surcoat and settled the weapon comfortably at his left side. He had grown so used to the weight of the sword and its scabbard that he felt unbalanced without it. On his right, he hung the leather sheath that contained his dagger, the blade ready at hand should he need it.

Holding Spock's war helm, Ansaric was watching him proudly as the Ni'ikhirchi warrior fastened his cloak around his shoulders and then pulled on his gauntlets. The younger man was attired for war himself but still he gazed wistfully at his friend. Spock peered back at him with a questioning expression and Ansaric answered, "You make me think of Lord Tumik when I last fought at his side."

Spock smiled and reached out to grasp Ansaric's shoulder. "I will try to be worthy of him."

Then he turned to where Brax was waiting and mounted with a graceful movement. Ansaric handed up the helmet and said, "The Goddess keep you, my lord."

"And you, my friend. May we return together in peace to Shar'ram." Impulsively, Spock held up his right hand with his fingers spread. "Live long and prosper, Ansaric. Thank you for your service to me."

In wonder, the young man stared at Spock's gesture, then held up his hand and tried to imitate the movement. He wasn't entirely successful but his meaning was clear.

With a reassuring smile for his young friend, Spock reined Brax around and rode to join the nobles on _hox_ -back and the commoners on foot as they moved out to battle. Behind him, Ansaric gathered his things and swung up onto Kreyla's back, following his master into battle.

* * *

Kirk blinked and stared at the computer screen. "Wait!" he said. "Go back! What was that?" He moved closer to the monitor, trying to force his fatigue-weary vision to focus on what he thought he had seen.

T'Lon, the Vulcan historian working with him, gazed serenely back at him. "I did not notice anything out of the ordinary, Captain Kirk."

"I just caught a glimpse of something. It didn't ... look right. Run the tape back."

T'Lon complied, although she betrayed a bit of impatience as she did so. It was a measure of the fatigue she was beginning to feel. On the screen, yet another battle was being fought, a rather big one. It was no different from the dozens of other battle scenes they had viewed earlier, except for the number of men involved.

"What are we watching here?" Kirk asked.

"This is the Battle of Seleya," the historian replied. "It took place on the 4th day of Sarmoon in the year 4583 P.R. ... pre-Reform."

"Where?"

"The valley that is now the location of the city of ShiKahr, the Valley of R'uhn s'vat."

Kirk was staring intently at the screen. "There!" he suddenly exclaimed. "Did you see it? What's that?" He pointed to a spot on a far hill, away from the main fighting.

T'Lon shook her head. "I saw nothing. Let me run it back again." She did so and watched where Kirk had indicated. This time she saw it — a tiny blue spark of light. "Probably only the sun glancing off a weapon."

"No — that was no reflection. Computer, grid 82. Magnify and enhance."

The computer zeroed in on the indicated section and brought the scene up and more into focus. It was still too blurry to see clearly, but this time on playback, the blue spark leapt out at them with terrible clarity.

It was the beam of a phaser.

Kirk turned to his Vulcan companion, unable to contain the swarm of emotions that engulfed him. "Call the rest of your team in here. I think we may have found them."

 


	22. Chapter 22

In the bloody light of the morning sun, the armies of Anskar and Sefak stood silent and waiting, stretching out along the plain. In the center of the first column, beside the two Holders, Spock waited astride his _hox_ , straight and unmoving, his eyes on the far side of the plain. His long cape snapped in the chill wind sweeping the flat and he held Brax's reins lightly in one firm hand, his war helm cradled in the crook of his other arm. Looking out over the valley that lay before them, its far side black with the enemy's number, Spock said softly to himself, "Once more into the breach, dear friends..."

Anskar looked over at him. "What's that you say?"

"A quote, lord, from a very old story from my mother's homeland. 'Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more. Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility; but when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the actions of the tiger: stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage and lend the eye a terrible aspect!'" He looked over at the older man. "From a story about a king who went to war to reclaim that which was rightfully his."

Anskar nodded. "A good song, Spock. You must sing it for us when we return to our own peace."

Spock smiled a little and shook his head. "It is an epic, my lord. I don't know it all. It requires many singers to tell it fully."

"Perhaps someday we can arrange for it to be told."

"Perhaps, lord. Some day." With that, the two men turned their attention back to the gathered hordes awaiting them. Brax champed at his bit and pawed the ground impatiently, letting his master know that this waiting was intolerable to him. Spock sat quietly in the saddle, however, and would not respond to the _hox_ 's urgings. It was not yet time, though they all sat straining "like greyhounds in the slip." The ancient words whispered through Spock's mind now as he viewed the battlefield, thinking of all the times throughout history when men sat poised on the brink of death and disaster and glory. It might be the French they faced across the field of Agincourt instead of fellow Vulcans across a valley in his homeland. _Cry God for Harry, England and St. George!_

Suddenly there came an eerie wail floating across the plain like a voice from hell. Hollow and lost it was, and chills swept over the men. The _hoxa_ began to rear and snort, but the men held them firm. And then there could be seen advancing across the plain a black tide, flowing inexorably toward them, and the tramping of many boots rumbled through the morning air.

The army stopped as one, but their master kept going, his black _hox_ wild-eyed, prancing as they continued onto the field. Halfway out, he halted and sat like silent death, waiting.

"He wants a parley," Anskar said and made to go out onto the plain.

"No, wait, my lord," Spock interrupted him. "Let me." He squeezed his legs against Brax's side and urged the _hox_ forward. The big gray stallion cantered out onto the plain where S'Von waited for them. About ten feet apart, they halted and the adversaries stared at each other across the distance separating them.

S'Von was the first to speak. "So, Spock, we meet again. I thought I had escaped you."

Slowly Spock shook his head. "No, Doctor. It has always been my mission to apprehend you and take you back. If it is within my power, I intend to do so."

The other laughed harshly. "Back? To where? How? There is no Gateway here."

"Nevertheless. I shall find a way, S'Von. Either that or kill you."

"You can try," S'Von grinned unpleasantly. "But I think you will find either prospect rather difficult. I don't intend to go back or die quietly."

"Then, if requiring fail, I shall compel you," Spock responded and the menace and resolution in his voice was unmistakable.

S'Von gave him a look of mocking dismay. "Quoting Shakespeare, Spock? Or misquoting it, actually. Really, how trite. Why not something from the Tenets of Surak? That would be more appropriate. Well, just do me one favor, then. _Don't_ launch into 'St. Crispin's Day'. I really couldn't bear it."

The other did not respond so S'Von continued, "All right, then. Have it your own way. Shakespeare it is. I think I shall compel you to compel me. For 'in fierce tempest am I coming, in thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove'. And _I_ will take no mercy 'on the poor souls for whom this hungry war opens his vasty jaws; and on your head turning widows' tears, the orphans' cries, the dead men's blood, the pining maidens' groans, for husbands, fathers and betrothed lovers, that shall be swallow'd in this controversy'. Go make yourself ready, Spock, because I intend to make your England bleed!" With that, S'Von yanked the head of his _hox_ around, spurring it into a gallop as he returned to his army.

Spock did likewise, rejoining the front line with Anskar and Sefak. The older man glanced at Spock's grim, angry visage and knew that any hope of negotiation had failed. Turning back to the battle before him, Anskar slid his war helm onto his head and all the other men, Spock included, followed suit. Removing his cloak, Spock tossed it to one of the pages, as did anyone else similarly attired, and turned back to the battle lines, awaiting Anskar's signal.

The Holder of Seleya drew his sword and held it aloft, and there was the ring of steel all along the line as every man with a sword pulled blade from scabbard. Spock was the only one who did not. He would keep the silver sword sheathed until they charged. The sight of its blazing wrath suddenly appearing in their midst would make its impact doubly terrible.

There was a tense moment of quiet, broken only by the restless stamp of hooves, jingle of harness and creak of leather. Mounted lancers and swordsmen sat their _hoxa_ like statues. Beside them, pikemen and men-at-arms with long axes and light-weight battle _lirpas_ , crossbowmen and archers and those armed with the boomerang-like _parakh_ , foot soldiers with a variety of weapons — all waited and watched.

Then from across the field arose a cry of hatred and malice and S'Von's mounted warriors launched forward as one, thundering toward the army of Seleya. Behind them, their foot soldiers dashed after them, screaming their war cry.

Anskar thrust his sword into the air and hauled back on the reins in his hand, causing his _hox_ to rear and shriek. The cry was echoed by thousands of throats as the troops roared their defiance at the advancing horde. Then the mounted warriors sprang forward in unison, the sound of their _hoxa_ like thunder reverberating across the plain.

Spock's throat was one that bellowed the battle cry and at last he drew the Sword of Kh'Liorah from its sheath, and Brax leaped forward, eager for battle. The sword blazed in his hand and the sight of it caused an even louder shout to go up from their men.

The two lines of cavalry collided in mid-field and immediately disintegrated into a maelstrom of clashing steel, screaming _hoxa_ , blood and dust. Flights of arrows shrieked over their heads as both sides launched attacks on the others' infantry. The cries of stricken men and _hoxa_ joined the din and men on both sides began to fall, trampled underfoot by hooves and booted feet. Undaunted, the foot soldiers caught up with the _hoxa_ and fought their way into the fray.

Spock was in the midst of it all, fighting with a fury he had never felt before. The overwhelming hate and savagery that radiated from every man around him suffused him and blotted out everything but the need to kill. There was no time or inclination for second guessing or logical thought. He only knew that men were doing their best to kill him and he must respond in kind or die. With a ferocity that roared up from his ancestral blood, he swung and hacked and clashed swords with other mounted warriors, the spirit of the ancient King Solan, whose _katra_ he carried, giving preternatural strength and surety to his strikes.

With blood lust screaming in his ears, the Heir of Kh'Liorah killed and killed and killed.

* * *

Not all of S'Von's men and allies charged forward into battle that morning. On the hill overlooking R'uhn s'vat, Stahl and Temek sat astride their _hoxa_ , watching the first clash of the battle with satisfaction. The twenty men who had defected with them waited as well and within a few minutes, a man on a black _hox_ galloped up the hill to them, leaving the raging battle below.

It was S'Von. Unlike Anskar and Sefak, he did not feel compelled to thrust himself into the heat of combat and risk having his head sliced from his body by an errant swing of an enemy sword. He preferred to direct his troops from an observation point and let others die for his conquests. It was illogical, he felt, for a military leader to needlessly expose himself to death and thus risk the whole operation collapsing. Besides, the battle waging below was nothing but a diversion from his real purpose.

The group of _hox_ men made their way down from their vantage point on the hill and guided their mounts onto a trail that led back toward Mt. Seleya. Waiting below were one hundred D'Khahli warriors who fell into the procession. Behind them, the sounds of battle faded, although the high-pitched screams of _hoxa_ and the clash of metal remained audible.

It was a little over three _kh'eet_ from R'uhn s'vat to the village lying below Shar'ram and the town was basically undefended. Every able-bodied man in the area was on the battlefield, leaving only old men, women and children behind them. S'Von smiled with delight and motioned a group of his D'Khahli warriors forward to carry out the carnage they had become so adept at performing. With a chorus of wild whoops, the invaders spurred their _hoxa_ forward into the wide-open village.

But, for S'Von and the rest, their mission lay ahead and now it was Stahl's turn to take the lead as they guided their _hoxa_ up the foothills of the mountain. A frontal assault on the main gates was impossible, but there were other ways into Shar'ram that few were aware. Stahl had lived and worked in Shar'ram for most of his life and he knew every entrance and strong point, every weakness and trap that lay in the fortress. Now he guided S'Von and his men up into the hills behind the fortress and around to where the walls of the stronghold met the sheer heights of Seleya itself.

S'Von reined in his _hox_ and stared at the high, invulnerable walls and cliff towering above them. "What is this?" he demanded of Stahl. "You told me you knew a way in! It would take a siege army to get through these walls!"

Stahl turned a cold, hard gaze on him. "Yes, it would. But we're not going through the walls."

"What?"

"Just follow me and trust that I know what I'm doing." With that, Stahl jerked his _hox_ around and headed for the base of the cliff not far from the wall terminus. The other men followed, only Temek smiling in knowledge of what his captain had in mind.

As they neared the rugged cliff face, the rock began to show cracks and indentations in its surface that hadn't been evident before. It was for one of these cracks that Stahl now headed and, as they reached their destination, the crack proved to be wide enough and tall enough for a man on _hox_ back to enter. Without hesitation, Stahl disappeared into the darkness inside and Temek followed. S'Von paused for a second, then kicked his black _hox_ and guided it through.

Inside was a sizeable cavern, the floor smoothed and spread thick with straw to cushion the footsteps of man and animal. It was large enough to hold fifty men and _hoxa_ and the rest of the men began to ride in behind them.

"This is Shar'ram's back door," Stahl announced with a nasty grin. "There aren't many who know of its existence. That passageway leads into the upper courtyard and through the stable yard to the main hall. Anskar won't have left many on guard inside the walls. The fool believes it's invulnerable." His grin widened. "It is ... from frontal assault."

"Well done!" S'Von remarked, truly impressed. "Once we hold it, let Anskar try to get back in!" He laughed uproariously at the absurdity of the joke, the irony of it.   "Lead on, my good _sai_. Lead on!"

Stahl did just that. Leaving the _hoxa_ in the cavern stable with two men to guard them, only S'Von still mounted, the group of invaders made their way through the wide passageway and emerged into the sunlight of the upper courtyard. It was deserted and they quickly slipped through and into the entrance of the stable area. The long structure was nearly empty of _hoxa_ , only the draft animals waiting in their stalls. All the mounts of the warriors were gone.

As they began to make their way through the stable, they were suddenly confronted by the _hox_ master, an older man with a lame leg. "What are you doing—" he began and then recognized the men for who they were. Immediately, the old man seized a hay fork and brandished it at them. "Guards! Guards!" he began to scream.

Temek sprang forward and silenced his throat by slitting it. "Quiet, you old fool!" he commanded as the _hox_ master crumpled to the straw-covered floor and clutched at the gurgling gash, his voice reduced to a burbling splutter of blood and air flowing out through the wound. They left him and hurried on down the row of empty stalls.

At the door into the main courtyard, they met two of the guards left on duty, running to the _hox_ master's summons. Both men were quickly and quietly dealt with and the invaders moved on out toward the main hall.

Most of the guards were gathered on the outer wall, attracted by the commotion in the village below, where smoke was beginning to billow from the fires set by the looters. As Stahl had envisioned, there weren't many men left to guard the supposedly impregnable fortress.

"I'll take care of those," S'Von said and drew out his hand phaser. Stahl and his men stared at it uncomprehending, having never seen anything like it before. Then they leaped back with cries of fear as S'Von aimed and pulled the trigger, burning down the men on the wall with the brilliant blue beam that screamed out of the phaser barrel.

"Are you children?" S'Von sneered at the astounded men as he turned back to them. "Get inside the hall and secure it. I'll take care of any opposition out here!"

Recovering from their shock, Stahl motioned to his men and they charged into the main hall. Servant women screamed and scattered, running for the kitchen areas of the hall. One of the few men who had remained guarding the fortress was old Suvakh, too elderly to join in the ride to battle. But he now met the invaders in a furious assault with his sword. The weapon had lain too long in its scabbard, unused, and both it and its master were dull with lack of service. Still, Suvakh managed to catch the first two D'Khahli by enough surprise to chop them down in quick fashion.

But he halted for a second in shock as he came face to face with Temek, whom he had known since boyhood. The warrior, however, was not so sentimental and plunged his blade through the body of the old man. "I'm sorry, uncle," he whispered as Suvakh crumpled to the floor, staring up at him. Then Temek left him and ran on, following the rest of the defectors and invaders as they moved their search up to the second level.

Dying, Suvakh looked after him and feebly reached out his hand to the boy he had raised. The man didn't look back.

Stahl was in the lead and he knew exactly where he was heading. Upon reaching a certain doorway, he slammed his mail-covered shoulder hard against the wood and it sprang open before his assault.

T'Preve had been standing at the window watching the battle raging in the distance and she screamed in fear as the warrior burst in.

"Oh, don't act so surprised, my dear," Stahl announced, a grin of victory and vengeance spreading over his face. "Surely you knew I would come back for you."

"No!" T'Preve begged, edging away from him. "Stahl, please..."

"Please what?" he asked, continuing his advance. "Please forget that your father gave you to me as my wife? Please forget that you carried on faithlessly like a common whore with a murderer and thief? Please go meekly away and allow you to consort with a _krenath_ stranger who takes my place at Anskar's side?" She had backed into the bed and could go no further.

Roughly, he grabbed her upper arms and shook her. "Not very likely, my dear! And I'll tell you why. I don't love you any more than you love me, but you are Anskar's niece and the heir to your father's lands. As your husband, I hold those lands and become subholder to the House. You are my stepping stone to wealth and prestige and I don't intend to lose that chance! Spock will die at my hands — and I intend on taking both you _and_ the Sword away from him."

T'Preve wrenched away from him and scrambled across the bed so that it stood between them. Her long black hair falling into her face and her mahogany eyes flashing fire, she ground out in a low voice, "I will _never_ marry you, Stahl! Spock and I were bonded before Heya in the Ring Stones and I am his legal wife! We pledged our hearts and minds two months ago and consummated our bond fully! I carry his son and heir!"

Stahl's face drained of blood at her statement, then he roared with fury and launched himself across the bed at her. She tried to get away from him but he was too fast and tackled her, knocking them both to the floor.

As T'Preve fought desperately to free herself from his brutal clutches, her mind and voice screamed out the only thing she could think of —

" _Spock!!_ "

 


	23. Chapter 23

The scream that ripped through his mind nearly unseated Spock from his saddle. Jerking back on the reins in startled reaction, he caused Brax to rear and squeal as the bit cut into the _hox_ 's mouth and tongue. They were in the heat of the battle and the _hox_ 's flailing front hooves crashed down on an enemy soldier's skull, shattering it, before the wild-eyed animal dropped to all fours again.

Spock took no notice, his attention riveted now on the fortress in the distance. "Ansaric!" he yelled above the din of battle. The young man finished his opponent with a thrust of his sword and looked Spock's way. "With me! Fifty men! With me! Shar'ram is under attack!"

Some feet away, Anskar was engaged in a fierce contest with a D'Khahli soldier and could not follow them, but he had heard Spock's command. When next he could glance their way, he saw that the group was fighting their way out of the crush of men and weapons. The Sword of Kh'Liorah flashed with deadly purpose, its bright surface dulled now with the blood of innumerable men, but still sharp and capable of chopping a path through a forest of mail and steel.

And then they broke free and spurred their _hoxa_ in a flat-out gallop towards Shar'ram and the village that was now ablaze.

Anskar turned his head to follow their progress, taking his attention away from the mounted D'Khahli warrior who thundered down upon him. He didn't see the flashing _lirpa_ blade until it was too late.

* * *

T'Preve struggled and screamed as Stahl attempted to subdue her. Elsewhere in the fortress other screams echoed but he paid no attention. They had come to take Shar'ram and the conquest was being carried out with harsh efficiency. _Stahl_ had come to take T'Preve and now he had her pinned beneath him, holding her wrists to keep her beating fists away from his face.

"I believe I like you better this way," he murmured as she glared at him in frustration and fear. "So much better than simply having you lie there like a scared _shanna_ hare. I prefer you fighting like a _le'matya_."

She spat in his face. "Kill me now, Stahl, because I'll do the deed myself before I'll give myself over to you!"

"No, that wouldn't suit my purpose at all," he answered. "I always intended for you to bear me sons and that's what you'll do. Not this one, of course. This one will be left for the _sehlats_ to feed on and the _alo'oe_ to pick clean as soon as it's born. I'll have no son of _his_ growing beneath my roof, waiting to usurp my position in his father's name."

"Spock will kill you!" T'Preve sobbed.

"What makes you think Spock isn't dead already on the battlefield? He can't help you now."

She shook her head in denial. "Because you just told me yourself that you still intend to kill him. No, I _feel_ him! He's alive and he's coming! He heard me _call_ him."

"All the better," Stahl sneered. "Bid him hurry. My dagger is thirsty for his blood." He freed a hand and dragged up the front of her skirt, baring her legs. " _Call_ him, T'Preve! Tell him in detail what I do to you while I wait for him. _Call_ him now!!"

In despair and anguish, she threw her head back and _called_ , the voice of her mind reaching out through the bonding meld to her husband, her sobs building into a scream.

* * *

Half of Spock's men split off as they reached the village and galloped to the rescue of the townspeople. Spock and Ansaric reined their _hoxa_ to a stop and stared up at the imposing walls of Shar'ram, the rest of the men falling in behind them.

"The front gate?" Spock asked uncertainly.

Ansaric shook his head. "I wouldn't trust that our people still hold it. Anyway, it's built to be nearly impossible for an invading force to penetrate. The postern gate, perhaps."

One of the older warriors with them pulled his _hox_ up beside them. "No, _sai_ , we'd never get in that way, either. I know a way, though. If I can find it, that is. I entered that way once with Anskar. It's in the hills up there."

"Hurry, then," Spock answered. "We don't have much time!" As one, the squad of men urged their _hoxa_ forward and began the ascent up the slopes of Seleya.

They would have had a harder time finding the crack in the cliff had it not been for the trail of fresh hoof prints in the dust leading to it. They approached quietly and Ansaric dismounted to reconnoiter.

There proved to be only one man guarding the _hoxa_ there and he was dispatched quickly before he could cry out. But as Ansaric was straightening something warned him of danger and he whirled to find the second man behind him, his dagger already plunging toward the young man's back. Ansaric grabbed the descending wrist, flung himself backwards and pulled the man with him. Before the stunned D'Khahli could recover his wits, Ansaric had slit his throat.

After a quick look to make sure only two had been there, Ansaric hurried back and leaped up onto his _hox_. He motioned the others forward and one by one the men rode into the cavern and down the wide passageway to the upper court.

Once there, their pathway was clear. They urged their mounts through the stable's broad aisle and into the main courtyard, and there they surprised a contingent of Stahl's men. With a cry, Ansaric and several of the warriors were upon them, swords flashing, and the battle was quickly joined by defectors and D'Khahli soldiers coming their aid.

Spock was already on his feet and running toward the main hall, T'Preve's cries echoing through his mind.

* * *

For a second, Stahl's attention was caught by the commotion in the main courtyard and he shifted his weight. T'Preve saw her chance and slammed the heel of her free hand as hard as she could into his nose. The force of the blow knocked him off her as he cried out in pain and surprise and reached instinctively for the injury.

She scrambled away from him and bolted for the door. He lunged after her from his position on the floor, caught the hem of her skirt, then was left with a piece of the garment in his hand as she yanked it away and sprinted out into the hallway. He leapt to his feet and pounded after her, catching sight of her as she launched herself in panic down the stairs into the main hall. He thundered after her—

—and nearly collided headlong with Spock who had swept his wife behind him and was brandishing his sword in battle stance. There was a fury and cold hatred covering his features that Stahl had never seen there before. _Good_ , the big warrior thought to himself. _The better to send him down in defeat._

As Stahl drew his own sword from its scabbard, Spock pushed T'Preve away, his hard, dark eyes never leaving his opponent. "Get out of here, T'Preve," he told her. "Get to safety."

She edged back toward the main door, prepared to run if she had to, but truly not knowing anymore where safety lay.

The two men faced off, both holding their swords at ready with double-handed grips. They crouched into position, watching for the proper second to attack, then Stahl lunged, bringing his weapon down in a vicious swipe. Spock countered the impact and they exchanged a flurry of blows as if testing the other, backed off for a few seconds, then clashed with a fierceness that frightened the young woman nearly out of her wits.   She had thought the combat in the Ring was savage, but that had been a mannered dance compared to this.

Stahl pressed Spock back towards the main door and in a moment they were in the courtyard where each had more room to maneuver. Ansaric and the other men were down near the front wall, engaged in their own battle with the defectors, who outnumbered them two to one. Spock and Stahl paid no heed to them, so absorbed were they in their own personal combat. T'Preve had followed them outside and now stood with her back against the stones of the main hall. She didn't see the small, hawk-faced man who stood at the corner of the building, watching the proceedings with interest.

Once in the open, Spock launched an attack on Stahl that staggered the larger man. Battered by powerful blows that he was barely able to counter, Stahl's self-confidence flickered in the face of the almost berserk Vulcan warrior who now swung at him with virtually supernatural speed and strength. For the first time, he almost believed that the Sword of Heya was imbuing Spock with nearly god-like ability.

But then he knew the truth of it. Spock was still battling him over possession of T'Preve and there lay his weakness.

As Spock backed off for a second to catch his breath, Stahl asked viciously, "Did she let you know how we spent our time waiting for you? Did you enjoy her as much as I did?"

"There's no use taunting me, Stahl," Spock panted, glaring back at him. "You can't goad me into hating you any more than I already do."

"What a pity that it has to end like this, eh?" Stahl continued. "And all over a woman. You could have had any other woman, you know. But you insisted on pursuing my wife. Now you'll die and your child will die, but I'll still have _her_."

"She is _my_ wife, Stahl. By legal challenge and declaration."

"Then prove yourself worthy of her," Stahl snarled, crouching back into stance. " _Die_ for her."

Spock answered by erupting into a lightning-fast assault on his hated rival. The swords clashed together once more with a deafening clang of steel and once more blow was met by blow and counter blow. Stahl allowed Spock to spend his strength in pressing the attack, then, as he saw Spock falter ever-so-slightly, he reversed their positions and became the aggressor, using every trick he had learned in his years of combat.

Now it was Spock's turn to retreat, countering the blows defensively. He was beginning to tire, having already engaged in all out combat with the D'Khahli troops before riding to T'Preve's rescue. But his hatred and anger kept him going, refusing to allow Stahl to walk away victorious from this combat. One or both of them would die here and he was determined that it would be Stahl who finished with his blood running green across the cobblestones.

With that thought, Spock drew back to deliver the killing blow, but Stahl countered with an equally deadly swing, and the swords crashed together with such shattering force that both men were knocked off their feet from the impact. Dazed, Spock shook his head to clear it and saw that Stahl was not in much better condition. But then he saw something that sent a surge of vicious joy through him — Stahl's sword had snapped in two by the power of the blow.

For a second, Stahl stared in dismay at the stub of his sword then he threw it to the side, drew his dagger and made a scrambling lunge at his opponent, who was still on his back and stunned, but with the Sword of Kh'Liorah in his hand.

As Stahl flew at him, Spock instinctively yanked the sword up — and staggered under the impact of Stahl's body as the blade was jammed through mail, flesh and bone, to emerge clean through the man's back.

Their faces an inch apart, Spock and Stahl stared in profound surprise at one another. It was difficult to tell which one was the most startled by the abrupt outcome of their combat. As he looked up into his rival's fast glazing eyes, Spock came back to himself, realizing that he had just killed this man.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, meaning it.

Stahl gulped. "I would have killed you if I could," he murmured back. "I would have killed you for her."

"I know," Spock answered.

Stahl closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath, coughed blood, and collapsed, dead. For a few seconds, Spock closed his eyes as well and wished the man's _katra_ safe journey into the next realm, asking Heya to greet him with full honors due a warrior of Vulcan. Then he shoved Stahl's body off him and climbed shakily to his feet. He bent down and grasped the hilt of his sword, propping one boot on the corpse to pull the gory weapon from the body.

He was just turning to find T'Preve when he heard her scream. Jerking around in her direction, he was shocked to find S'Von with one arm around her neck, holding his phaser to her head.

"So, this is your wife, Spock?" the smaller man asked with malicious delight. "What a prize she is. I can see that I would have had to fight Stahl over her. Thank you for killing him for me." He gave a sharp whistle and his black _hox_ trotted up. S'Von shoved T'Preve toward the animal. "Get on," he ordered the woman, still watching Spock and holding the phaser close on T'Preve.

Trembling and frightened, but not knowing what else to do, she complied, then S'Von quickly swung up in the saddle behind her. "Your men have defeated Stahl's warriors, I see," the scientist continued, taking up the reins. "I should have followed my original plan to attack Shar'ram with full force. But no matter. With Anskar being destroyed on the battlefield along with his troops, that leaves this place virtually undefended. It should be easy to take it shortly. Until then, Spock — _adieu_ , as the Terrans say."

With that, he yanked the head of his _hox_ around toward the postern gate and leveled his phaser at it. Wood and metal blew apart under the weapon's full power and S'Von spurred his _hox_ through the gaping opening at a gallop, holding T'Preve securely before him.

 


	24. Chapter 24

"Brax!" Spock shouted and within a few seconds the big gray _hox_ galloped up, already sensing his master's urgency. Spock sheathed the sword and vaulted into the saddle, reining Brax around toward the phaser-blasted gate.

Ansaric came running up. "What's happened?!" He skidded to a halt at the sight of Stahl's body then stared back up at Spock.

"S'Von's taken T'Preve!" Without further explanation, Spock drove his heels into Brax's flanks and the big animal surged forward and was through the gate with a soaring leap.

Ansaric turned and sprinted towards his own _hox_ , Kreyla. "Sokol!" he shouted. "Take charge! Get that gate barred! The D'Khahlis' attack will come there!" And with that he galloped after his friend.

Spock rode hard after S'Von down the hillside toward the Valley of R'uhn s'vat, ignoring the fighting still going on there, intent on catching his adversary. Brax needed no urging, thundering eagerly after the fleeing figure, his fighting blood high. Ahead of them, S'Von's _hox_ , carrying its double burden, could not maintain the speed necessary to outdistance its pursuers.

As they came to the swell of the next hill, S'Von reined in abruptly and unceremoniously dumped T'Preve from in front of him. She managed to break her fall in her awkward landing, but S'Von was already spurring his _hox_ unmercifully, forcing it up the hill.

Spock charged up a minute later, as T'Preve was painfully getting to her feet. He drew back hard on the reins, causing Brax to dig in with a spray of dust as he slammed to a halt.

"Are you all right?!" Spock demanded of T'Preve.

"I think so," she answered and just then Ansaric arrived, similarly pulling his mount up abruptly.

"See to her!" Spock ordered him and immediately was off again, pulling his sword from its sheath as he did so. Brax stretched out in the chase, his muscles bulging under his lathered silver-gray coat. S'Von had a good lead on them, however, and gained the top of the hill well before them. There he flung himself off his _hox_ and turned back to face his pursuer.

As they reached the slope of the hill and started up, Spock saw the other man retrieve an object from within his tunic and level it at them. In the split second he recognized what it was and started to pull Brax around, a cobalt blue beam of light streaked out and struck the big gray _hox_ full in the chest.

Brax gave a piercing, guttural scream and pitched forward at full gallop, going down hard onto his knees and chest, throwing Spock out of the saddle and over his head to land heavily on his back on the rough ground, jarring loose his grip on his sword. It clattered away out of reach.

For a long moment, Spock lay stunned by the impact, the breath knocked out of him. Vaguely, as his ears stopped ringing and his senses began to come back to him, he could hear Brax on the ground behind him, groaning in intense pain and scrabbling his suddenly weak legs against the stones and stunted grass of the hillside. Far below, the sounds of battle still raged, the clang of steel against steel, the shouts of men and _hoxa_ seeming far away and detached from him.

Gradually, his vision cleared from the star-strewn blackness he'd been seeing and he became aware of footsteps approaching. In a moment, S'Von's leering face came into view above him. He was laughing mirthlessly as Spock stared up at him, still somewhat dazed. He realized that he'd lost his sword and in desperation scrambled to reach it. S'Von easily kicked it away from his reach.

"You see, Spock?" he said, almost pleasantly. "It's as I told you. I don't intend to go anywhere with you, or to die quietly. I like it here in this time period. Before, I was no one, just a scientist whom no one appreciated or listened to. Here, I'm a king. A god, even. Your pitiful loyalty to your clan and to preserving the _status quo_ has brought you to this." He shrugged as if in regret. "Now, I'm afraid I have no choice. I must kill you and end this useless conflict between us."

He looked down at the phaser pistol in his hand and reset a dial on it. As S'Von leisurely worked with the power level on his phaser, Spock's hand crept to the dagger still hanging at his side and he eased the weapon out until he had the blade itself between his fingers.

Finally S'Von was satisfied that he had the phaser at an appropriately deadly level and he looked back at the man on the ground before him. "It's really too bad. Such a waste of a fine mind, but — what's it the humans say? Oh, yes — _c'est le guerre_." He pointed the phaser directly at Spock's face and took aim. "Goodbye, Spock," he said with a smile.

Spock's arm flashed in a blinding movement and instantly the hilt of the dagger materialized in the middle of S'Von's shoulder with a solid _thunk!_ The scientist gave a grunt of surprise and pain and reflexively jerked the trigger on the phaser. Spock rolled barely in time to avoid the sizzling blue beam that exploded the turf he had been occupying an instant before. He scrambled to his feet, ready to tackle S'Von before he could fire another shot, but the smaller man's attention was entirely focused on the blade sprouting from his shoulder.

Almost in slow motion, he sank to his knees, gingerly touching the weapon as if puzzling over how best to remove it. Nerveless, his hand opened spasmodically and the phaser tumbled out of his grip onto the grass. Instantly, Spock lunged for it, then he was standing over S'Von, holding the weapon pointed at the renegade's head in a double-handed grip, oblivious to the irony of their reversed positions.

"Get up!" Spock ground out through clenched teeth, his breath still coming quick and deep, as much with anger as with exertion.

Slowly, with an effort, S'Von got to his feet, his good hand held tight against the injured shoulder, blood streaming down through his fingers. "What now, Spock?" he questioned in a low, malicious voice. "Do you still intend to miraculously find some time portal and drag me back to the future? Tell me where it is then! How you intend to accomplish this!"

Spock motioned with the phaser, his eyes hard. "Move!" he said.

"Where? Shall we walk all the way back to Shar'ram?" He grinned viciously. "Your beast is dead, you know."

Involuntarily, Spock glanced at the shuddering form of Brax, lying on his side in the grass, panting heavily with pain. It was the opening S'Von needed. He kicked upward, his heavy boot slamming into Spock's hand and sending the phaser flying. Spock both heard and felt the crunch of bones snapping in his left hand and jerked back with a cry, instinctively clutching the injured hand with his right, cradling it to his chest.

S'Von took the opportunity to clamp his teeth together and grip the hilt of the dagger still imbedded in his shoulder, then with one quick movement, yanked it free. He couldn't suppress a scream of pain, and staggered, nearly fainting at the agony of it. But with iron determination he recovered and stared belligerently at Spock, who was huddled over his own injury and murderously watching S'Von. Sliding the bloody dagger into his boot top, S'Von pressed his tunic into the gash, trying to stem the emerald flow soaking through the cloth.

Both men eyed each other warily and Spock did a quick reconnoiter for the phaser. It had disappeared into the grass. For the moment, things seem to stand at an impasse. Spock was weaponless and suffering a badly broken hand, but he was in better shape than his opponent. For while S'Von was still armed with his own and Spock's dagger, the shoulder wound was deep and probably had pierced bone. S'Von was growing weak from loss of blood and from the agonizing pain.

"So, what now, Spock?" the renegade scientist questioned. "I can still kill you, if I choose. But, listen to me, Spock – _where's the logic in dying?_ Think, man! Think what you've become! Think what you've done today and about the blood on your hands!"

Something deep within Spock was listening to him. The wild blazing fire of bloodshed was beginning to leave his eyes, although he still remained wary and ready to attack at the first opportunity. But S'Von had seen the change and continued with renewed vigor, "You were raised to peace and logic, not warfare and vengeance. Where's your logic now, Spock? Where's the pacificism in your soul? They're gone, aren't they? You've lost yourself, Spock. You've corrupted your upbringing!"

Spock blinked and swallowed uncertainly.

"Yes, you feel it, don't you?" S'Von went on, edging away slightly, surreptitiously flicking a glance here and there at the ground, hoping to spot the phaser. "All the years of peaceful scholarship — gone! All the years of meditation and study to follow Surak's teachings — gone! The discipline and sacrifice and emotional control — gone! While you hacked men to pieces again and again — and then kept looking for more! Think what your father would say about the job you've done today, Spock. The wise and mighty Sarek — who has never touched a weapon in his life. Who believes that there is nothing intelligent beings can't settle through talk and negotiation! Think of his reaction. What would he think of a son who had done what you've done today?"

"My father is capable of killing," Spock argued but his tone was unconvincing. "Logically and efficiently."

" _Logically_ , Spock.   Did you _logically_ hack off heads and arms and legs today? Explain the logic of it to me. Explain it in terms Surak would understand and approve. Quote me the Tenets on mayhem and murder."

S'Von moved slightly to his left, and there it was, lying just a few feet away. He looked back up at Spock, gauging the right time to make a dive for the phaser and finish off his opponent once and for all.

But, even as the logical, peaceful man inside him battled the ancestral warrior he had become, Spock had seen S'Von's glance and then read the triumph on his face. He did his own quick glimpse at his surroundings and saw his sword just to his right and he tensed himself for action simultaneous with the sudden tightening of S'Von's muscles.

Both men seemed to move at the same instant. As S'Von dived for the phaser, Spock threw himself into a shoulder roll and, suddenly, the Sword of Kh'Liorah seemed to leap of its own accord into his right hand. He was on his feet in a split second, already bringing the sword up in an instinctive but futile attempt to parry the blast of the phaser shot that hit him.

The force of the explosion knocked him backwards to the ground and it took his spinning head an eternity to clear. When it did, he groggily struggled to a sitting position, the weight of the sword still in his right hand.

Ten feet away lay the lifeless body of S'Von, his chest blown open in a smoldering, mangled ruin. Spock got to his feet, dazed, and tried to make sense of the chaotic impressions that assaulted him. And then he knew. The polished, silver surface of the sword had acted like a mirror, reflecting the deadly beam in full force back to S'Von, ending the renegade scientist's mad reign of terror.

The sound of hoof beats startled Spock out of his stunned reverie and he spun toward the sound, then relaxed as he saw that it was Ansaric, T'Preve sitting side-saddle in front of him. As Ansaric drew up his _hox_ , she slipped down, landed lightly on her feet, and ran to her husband, throwing her arms around his neck. He caught her up, mindful of his painfully swelling left hand, holding her close and burying his face in her disheveled cloud of black hair.

At last Spock drew away from her, gazing down into her face as if he could not believe that she was safe and with him, that the nightmare was over, or nearly so, and that soon he would go back to Shar'ram with her to the life he had given up hope of ever having.

She was peering up at him with her love shining in her eyes, when suddenly her expression crumpled into one of fear and she gasped in terror, staring past him.

Expecting an attack, Spock whirled, ready to face an enemy — and froze in utter amazement at what he saw. A half-dozen men in bright tunics and black pants were running toward him, led by Jim Kirk. Even as he watched, another half dozen materialized out of thin air behind him, all with phasers drawn and ready.

As Kirk reached the Vulcan's side, Spock moved almost without thinking, sheathing the sword and throwing his arms around his friend, thumping him soundly on the back with his good hand in joy at their reunion. Kirk returned the sentiment, relieved beyond words, his emotions surging up into his throat. Then Spock held his captain off to drink in his features and presence.

To Kirk, his first officer was barely recognizable, dressed in battle gear of another time and place, hair long and matted, face streaked with mud. A trickle of green blood worked its way down across his face, leaving a verdant trail through the grime. But the dark brown eyes shone with wonder beneath the upswept brows and, most amazing of all, a delighted grin pulled at Spock's mouth, revealing even, white teeth. "Jim!" he whispered, as if he could not believe that Kirk was real. " _Jim!_ "

"Spock! Are you all right?" Kirk demanded.

"Captain!" The Vulcan was still dazed, both from the events he had just endured and from the sudden and unexpected appearance of his shipmates. "What— how did you—?"

"We've been searching history for you through the Guardian," Kirk explained, satisfied that his first officer was not seriously injured. "It's taken us ten days to find you."

"Ten days?" Spock repeated. "I've been here nearly three months, Captain."

"The dimensional paradox," Kirk nodded, then continued, "Once we located you, we had to make sure we came through at the precise moment we needed to reach you. We mistimed it, though. I wanted to arrive so that we could arrest Dr. S'Von and bring him back for trial." He indicated S'Von's body with a wave of his phaser.

"You would have been forced to kill him if you had arrived earlier." Spock was starting to sag a bit, the adrenalin high of combat and reunion beginning to fade. "He was utterly mad, Captain. He would not have gone back with you. I know that now."

He looked around him and observed that the battle had moved farther up the valley toward Shar'ram and that the little village was fully engulfed in flames now. Even at this distance, he could see enemy troops beginning to swarm against the walls of the fortress and knew that the end was near. A feeling of intense sadness settled on him like a heavy mantle. Scattered across the valley below was the bloody aftermath of the clash. The bodies of men and _hoxa_ , living and dead, lay strewn in heaps, clouds of arrows sprouted from the ground like grotesque flowers, blood lay in pools, and, most macabre of all, severed limbs and heads, hacked off by close quarters sword combat, gave mute testimony to the carnage.

Spock slowly shook his head in horror and despair. "All because of one madman," he murmured. "How many good men have died today?" His throat constricted with emotion. "How many have _I_ killed...?"

Abruptly, a low groan a short distance away made Spock aware that his _hox_ was still down, lying on his side nearby, breathing rapidly. He went immediately to the animal's side and knelt down at its head, stroking the muddy gray hide. "Brax..." he whispered. A quick examination revealed that the phaser blast Brax had taken had mortally wounded him. He was dying. The _hox_ turned a trusting eye on his master and seemed to beg for relief from his pain.

Spock could not deny him this last kindness. Placing his good hand on the big blood‑streaked head, he closed his eyes and dropped his chin onto his chest, concentrating. Mind‑melding with an animal was entirely different from joining his thoughts with a Vulcan or human, but Spock took control of the stallion's body and mind. First, he eased the pain until there was only blessed numbness, then he led Brax down into deep sleep. When the _hox_ sighed deeply and slipped into unconsciousness, Spock mentally backed away from the animal's mind and turned his attention to physical matters. Quickly and as gently as he could, he stilled the big, gallant heart until it had ceased beating. Brax exhaled one last time and lay still.

Slowly, Spock got to his feet and stood gazing down at the dead _hox_. Kirk quietly walked up beside him and Spock hurriedly turned away from him so that the other man would not see the tears in his eyes. Quickly, he wiped his face, unaware that his muddy gauntlet had left streaks of blood and dirt across his features.

Kirk understood and put a companionable arm around his friend's shoulders. "Sometimes easing a loved one's pain can be the hardest death of all," he said softly.

"He served me well and never faltered," Spock acknowledged. "I shall miss him."

One of the Starfleet security guards approached them. "Sir, we've recovered the phasers Dr. S'Von brought with him. They're all accounted for. And we have his body secured. We can go anytime you're ready, sir."

Kirk turned to his first officer. "Anytime _you're_ ready, Mr. Spock."

"Go?" The realization suddenly hit him and Spock turned to stare at the young woman standing across the field, clutching Ansaric in fear. "I can't go, Captain. Not now ... I mean ..."

Kirk looked in T'Preve's direction and understood. "I don't blame you, Spock. She's lovely. But what about the _Enterprise_? Your life back _there_?"

Spock's face clearly showed his uncertainty and agitation. He was hopelessly torn between the two destinies that faced him — to stay here with his wife and child in a time that was not his own, or to leave his bonded mate and return to the time period in which he belonged.

He looked from Kirk to T'Preve and back again and for a long moment Kirk could clearly see the conflict that raged within him. Then the internal battle quelled and his face settled into resignation, an oddly peaceful expression.

"I'm sorry, Jim," he said in a hoarse whisper. "I truly _am_ sorry. But I have to stay with her. I _can't_ leave her. Not now." He reached out and gripped Kirk's arm with his right hand, attempting to convey all that he was feeling in that one final touch. Then, almost as if moving in a dream, he turned and walked toward T'Preve.

" ** _SPOCK_** _!!_ "

The ground shook with the power of the deep voice reverberating around them. T'Preve screamed and Ansaric's _hox_ reared and tried to bolt before the young man got the animal under control.

Spock whipped around and stared up at the sky, searching for the source, although he knew the speaker and why it spoke.

" _Spock!_ " the voice rumbled again, this time a bit softer. " _You must return. Now._ "

"I can't leave her!" he shouted back at the sky. "You know I can't!"

" _Your time here has run its course,_ " the voice answered implacably. " _Time must resume its flow. Your continued presence here will disrupt that stream. Come. Now._ "

"Please!" he begged. "Let her come back with me, then!"

" _Her place and time are here, just as yours is in the world you know. You have fulfilled your function here. You must return to the desert whence you came. Her time is soon to come. She must remain. The future is within her._ "

With the force of an impacting comet, sudden comprehension slammed the breath from Spock's lungs with an explosive gasp and he staggered under its weight. He understood now, understood fully. _The future is within her._ Of course. He suddenly knew where he was in time and history, understood his role in that history, understood who T'Preve was and the pivotal role she would play here in the past. _The future is within her._

It was the legend come to life, to shattering reality. _He_ was the man from the desert who had loved a princess and then disappeared into the mists of time. _She_ was T'Riffa, her name confused by oral tellings and re-tellings of the tale as it was passed down through the years, not the daughter of the _Householder_ but the daughter of the _House_. And the battle they had just fought was the fall of Shar'ram, the Usurper was whoever led the D'Khahli troops now. And his son, yet to be born, would come out of the wilderness to take back Seleya and sire a line from which would one day rise Surak the Great and ultimately Spock himself. The time paradox had come full circle. He had become his own ancestor!

As understanding settled upon him, so finally did serenity and acceptance. _Time must resume its flow_. _The future is within her_. Spock nodded in resignation and addressed the Guardian. "There's something I have to do first," he said.

Walking away from Kirk and the group of Federation men, he went down the hillside to where T'Preve and Ansaric were standing in terrified awe. As he approached, Ansaric dropped to his knees and prostrated himself.

Spock quickly bent to lift him to his feet. "Don't bow to me, Ansaric," he said.

"But, master — the strange men! The voice!"

"I cannot explain so that you would understand, Ansaric. Just know that they are men like ourselves. No more and no less. Simply from another place." He clasped his young friend by the shoulder with his right hand, favoring his broken left, and gazed into Ansaric's handsome face, as begrimed from battle as his companion. "Ansaric, I must lay a trust on you."

"Anything, master. I will undertake to fulfill it."

Spock awkwardly unbuckled the sword belt from around his waist and handed over the scabbarded weapon. This time no unseen force prevented him from placing it into another's hands and Spock knew that the sword was no longer his.

Glancing solemnly at his wife, he addressed his young friend. "T'Preve is with child. You must protect them at all costs. Take her and ride as far as you can away from here until you find a land where you will be safe as the boy grows to manhood. Keep the sword for my son. When he is old enough, give it to him and train him to use it. He will be the salvation of our people. And tell him about me."

"I will, my lord. It will be sung for ages to come."

"Ansaric, I entrust them both to your care," he answered, turning again to look at his wife, unable to tear his eyes from T'Preve's beautiful face, now showing clearly that she knew what he was saying, what was happening. "Serve them well."

"Master, you're not coming back with us?" There were tears streaking the squire's dirty cheeks.

"No," Spock answered, shaking his head. "I must return with my friends to my own place. My duty here is finished."

"Why can't we come with you? I'll serve you there!"

"No, Ansaric. Your place is here. You must remember and tell what has occurred here."

Spock turned to T'Preve and reached out for her. At once, she was in his arms, clutching him frantically, tears flowing down her face. "I _can't_ lose you! I can't! How will I live without you?!"

He held her close then gently and reluctantly pushed her away, caressing her wet face between his hands, unmindful of the smudges his gloves were leaving behind. He could only see the pain in her wonderful eyes, could only remember the incredible joy of their short time together, could only imagine the life he would be missing without her by his side. But already he was feeling the inescapable pull of the Guardian's force, drawing him back through the time portal, to his _real_ time...

He bent to kiss her and suddenly the wind whirled up around them, spinning up dust and sand into a twisting column of debris. The vortex tore at their clothes and threatened to knock them off their feet, but Spock held fiercely onto T'Preve, his feet braced against the wind, and she clutched him just as hard, her cry of alarm nearly lost in the roar of the wind.

Abruptly, Spock felt as if the cyclone was reaching down into him and ripping away a chunk of his soul, severing nerves and ganglion and memories that had intertwined inexorably with his own. His hoarse scream joined with T'Preve's as she jerked back in his arms, bucking as if seized by invisible claws. Wind swirled tightly around her, trying to wrench her from his arms, but he held onto her with fierce determination.

At last the whirlwind died away and T'Preve collapsed against him. As he sank to the ground and held her, Ansaric and then Kirk came running up. The Vulcan and Human eyed each other uncertainly for a second, then both bent over Spock, who was stroking the unbroken fingers of his left hand along T'Preve's pale cheek.

Her eyes fluttered and she came awake, looking confused, then cried out and flung her arms around Spock's neck, clinging to him in terror.

"It's all right, _t'hy'la_ ," he whispered. "It's all right. You're safe. Can you stand?"

"Yes, I think so," she murmured back and Spock helped her to her feet. "What happened? What _was_ that?"

"How do you feel?" he questioned in return.

"Strange..." she answered introspectively. "Almost as if ... as if..."

"As if someone else has taken up residence inside you?" Spock finished for her.

She stared at him, amazed, then something in her eyes changed slightly, as if she were searching her inner soul. "No ... not in _me_..." Looking down, she slid her hand onto her abdomen, still flat and firm, but holding within its sanctuary the growing orb of developing life.

Spock stroked her cheek, understanding. "Get her far away from here, Ansaric, and protect her with your last drop of blood. Heya has chosen the next Bearer of Kh'Liorah. She carries the Heir of Solan."

" _Katra'tolok_ ," Ansaric breathed with reverence and suddenly knew what he had just witnessed.

The Guardian's voice rumbled around them again. " _All is as it should be. Return now!_ "

"Come _on_ , Spock!" Kirk said urgently and turned to quickly rejoin the other humans waiting for him.

Spock hesitated for another moment, gazing deeply into T'Preve's rich mahogany-colored eyes, now swimming in tears, and he slipped his hands in caress around her face, heedless of the pain that shot through his broken, mangled left one. Tenderly, he bent to press his mouth to hers, tasting for a last time the sweetness of her lips, drinking in the warm scent of her skin, sinking his fingers into the thick silken strands of her hair.

When at last he lifted his head, he knew it was time to go. "Farewell, my _t'hy'la_ , my heart," he whispered. "I will _never_ forget you. _Never_."

She broke down and sobbed and Ansaric stepped closer to put his arms around her, allowing Spock to leave them. Though stricken, the young man shakily held up his hand in the salute he had seen Spock do earlier. "Live long and prosper, my lord."

Spock answered solemnly, around the lump in his throat, "Peace and long life to you, Ansaric." Turning one last anguished look on his wife's beautiful, grief-stricken face, he turned and hurried back up the hillside to where his companions waited with S'Von's body.

It was later said in songs and epics, told on long winter evenings when the rain battered against shutters or during summer storms when the winds howled around rooftops and lightning danced along the eaves, that the man from the desert and his strange companions were messengers from the gods, sent by Heya to send into safety the mother of the King. For who but Heya could have caused such miraculous happenings and brought about the reincarnation of Solan the Great? And when their jobs were done, the gods called the messengers back to them with an equally great miracle.

For, in the presence of witnesses who told the tale to all that would hear, the very sky parted to receive them, and they leaped into the air and vanished utterly from sight. And none were ever seen on Vulcan again.

**Epilogue**

Spock looked up from the viewer at his desk as the buzzer to his office sounded. "Come," he said.

The door slid open and Captain Kirk entered, carrying a padd tucked under one arm. "Morning, Spock," he greeted his first officer. "How's the hand?"

"Good morning, Captain. It is quite fully healed," the Vulcan answered, demonstrating by flexing his left hand several times. "Dr. McCoy did an excellent job in fusing the bones back together."

"Glad to hear it. How are you doing otherwise?"

Spock cocked an eyebrow and pinned his commander with a slightly incredulous look. "Doing, Captain? Other than a few cuts and bruises, I am in perfect health."

"That's not what I mean and you know it. Emotionally."

The other eyebrow lifted to join its mate. "Completely irrelevant, Captain. I am in complete control of my—"

Kirk waved away his protest. "Yeah, yeah, I know the routine. But I'm not buying it. You had a pretty rough time of it back there and you were in a pretty emotional state when we found you. I don't believe that even a Vulcan could get over an experience like that so quickly."

"You underestimate my resilience, Captain," Spock answered, gazing at him levelly and with his expression closed down tight.

Kirk knew he wouldn't get any more out of his first officer, so he changed the subject. "Okay. But if you ever want to talk, I'll be happy to listen. I thought you might like to know that Dr. T'Lon and her team have returned to Vulcan. They're undergoing counseling to help them adjust to the world as it is now. It must be a terrible shock to have time changed around you and know that there's nothing you can do about it."

"Indeed. I truly regret that they were caught in the time shift and are unable to return to their own timeline."

"Anyway, that's not why I came to see you this morning."

"Indeed? What can I do for you, sir?"

"I wanted to go over your report in a little more detail. I have to write a final evaluation of the incident for the Federation Council."

"Of course, sir. Would you like coffee before we get started?"

"Had some already, thanks. But get some for yourself if you want."

Spock indicated the mug of _saya_ tea on his desk and Kirk grunted in acknowledgment. As he reached over to snag a chair and drag it up to the desk, he was caught by the information Spock had been studying. On the screen was a scholarly-looking document, illustrated by a crude, very old tapestry of Vulcan warriors, the central figure wielding a shining white sword.

"Is that you, Spock? Your battle?" the Captain inquired, curious.

"No, no, something else entirely," Spock answered, a bit of embarrassment in his voice. "It's a reference to an extremely old Vulcan story about a legendary hero similar to your King Arthur. At a young age, he rose to lead Vulcan through one of its most violent periods but consolidated the region into a stability that formed the foundations of my world as it is today. In fact, he was alleged to be one of the ancestors of Surak. According to the legend, he lived about the same time that I was there or a little after. His name was S'Kar hei-Kh'da'Ni'ikhirch."

Kirk gave a short, bemused laugh. "Your family name."

"Yes, sir. He was the founder of my Clan. Or so legend has it."

"Interesting. I've often wondered how many legends are based in fact and how many heroes were actual living persons. Did you happen to meet him while you were there?"

Spock didn't answer for a moment, his thoughts going back to a dark-haired girl standing in a wind-swept courtyard, watching her bondmate ride away to war, her hand sheltering the unborn son within her. His eyes moved to the small stasis box sitting beside the monitor, enclosing within its field a curl of glossy black hair, still as fresh and full of life as if its owner had just clipped it and pressed it into his keeping.

Picking up the little box and caressing it gently, Spock answered at last. "No, sir," he said, his voice strangely quiet. "I never knew him."

 

**The End**

 

 


End file.
